Moments
by Mizuno-Suzuka
Summary: Small snapshots of life on Azeroth, and the people within it. Multiple one shots, some short stories. Will be strange pairings inside. ;)
1. Touch

Touch

Crysanthemum had long since said her goodbyes to the sensation of touch. At first, undeath had not warranted the use of such frivolity. Touch was only used to grasp the hilt of a sword, to stretch out one's hand and spread death and decay. To verify the pulse had gone. But no real feeling.

She couldn't recall _exactly_ how it felt before her death. Sometimes she would remember, a glimpse of how it felt when someone touched her hand. When the breeze gently moved her hair across her skin. But it was fleeting, and it wasn't the same. Now, touch merely told her that her skin had been cut. It told her her limbs were atrophied from overuse. It told her that there was no pulse, but she could not feel that the skin was as cold as she was.

So when the Paladin she'd known in life gently placed his hand on her cheek, she didn't know why suddenly she felt warmth against her face. She couldn't explain the tense change in her chest, nor the sigh that escaped her lips as his hard shaped perfectly against hers. It was a sensation she hadn't felt in years, her cold skin having been bereft of such pleasurable touch. His Fel-green eyes scanned her frosted-blue ones, searching, looking for a trace of the girl she'd once been.

Was it his holy aura that made her feel this way? The heady burning in her chest that threatened to destroy her very being? His touch like fire upon her cheek, but not burning her skin.

"Crysanthemum." His voice was low, sorrowful. It bespoke of mourning. "You're... It really is you."

It was not a question. It was a revelation. A reminder. Of a ghost of a person that had existed once before, and had been seen like a meteor through a darkened sky. It was as if he'd seen her face a thousand times in his mind's eye, and now, seeing her like this...

Words lay on her tongue but it would not speak them. She hadn't seen him in years. She couldn't even count them. There were so many gaps. But, the memories, however faint, were there. He hadn't changed at all. Nothing had, really. He, ever young as was his bloodline, and her, frozen in time, never aging from the time of her death. Her green skin had lost some of its luster over time, having been shielded from the light over the years. Her lavendar hair had not changed, remaining bright and curled around her face. A stray curl fluttered over his hand, and she found herself deftly wondering what it felt like to him.

"It's so strange." He said, his fingers running along her skin, a trail of heat down her cheek. "I knew that this... that this had happened to you but..." His brow furrowed, his gentle eyes seeming to darken for a brief moment.

Crysanthemum, hesistant as she was, reached down to pull off her plated glove. Her hand free, she placed her hand on his cheek, feeling a warmth she hadn't in years. A small sigh escaped her lips, and she closed her eyes, realizing suddenly that it was _emotion_ that was overcoming her. She was feeling again.

Brought about by his touch.

...

Hello Readers! First in a series of many one-shots and short stories. Just snapshots of life in Azeroth. This particular snippet is Goblin DK Crysanthemum and Blood Elf Paladin Dess. Enjoy!


	2. Timeless

Timeless

Her face was timeless.

Not Particularly remarkable, mostly plain, and pale at that. But despite her hollowed cheeks and glowing golden eyes, Her face had been saved from her undeath, appearing to have changed very little, retaining it's youthful aura.

Marik knew looking at her that in life she was probably average as well. Even without her hair which seemed to caress her face gently, or the way her brow furrowed when she was deep in thought, making her seem so gentle, he knew; She did not care for appearences. She had been a fighter in life, and now, in undeath, it carried through. Her hunch did not impede the confidence in her expression, and her bones, though showing in places, did not tremor with brittleness. No, she was full of grace, and she let no one dissuade her of herself.

He envied that, more than he'd let her know. His cursed form made him cringe upon even the slightest glance at his reflection, unable to stand the grizzly maw that was a Worgen's face. Even now it took great patience and effort to change back into a suitable human form, but even then, he could not hide the ice cold eyes that he bore, warning passersby of death.

He enjoyed looking at her, perhaps not because he felt she was extraordinary, but because she was simply herself. She didn't fear what others thought of her. Undeath was not a curse to her. She simply was.

"You're thinking about it again." She said simply, placing a gentle, bony hand upon his muzzle. "You cannot change death, Mar. We all have to face it." She looked sadly at her hands, the bones in a few of her fingers showing through. He snorted, feeling guilty. He'd upset her with his brooding again. But he couldn't help it. In life, he'd been a priest. A holy man, one who healed and loved and... now, he was.. unholy. Death incarnate. He could hardly stand himself.

"Can't change it, but I'd like to." He said, shifting his feet over. "I just can't help but feel repulsed by this... undeath." Haeydenne looked hurt, her hand hovering over his shoulder, a reminder of her gentle nature.

"I don't mean you, Haeydenne." He corrected, again feeling guilty. "You're... you're special. Me? I'm..." He gestured to himself lamely, as if to convey his feelings to her. She rolled her eyes and sighed, standing up.

"You are always so down on yourself." She said, grabbing hold of his arm and heaving, having great strength for such a frail mage, and began to walk out of the inn. "We're going to get some fresh air. This dark brooding atmosphere is clearly getting to you." He found himself gently, but firmly, being led into the sunlight, bright and clear outside the inn. In the sun, it was as if a Halo was abover her head, accentuating her bright and sunny nature. He found himself staring again, unable to look away from her aura.

"What?" She asked, waving a hand in front of his face, drawing his attention. "You're zoning. What are you thinking about?" Marik smiled, a hard thing, and drew the forsaken woman to his side, earning a suprised gasp.

"I'm glad that I can be here with you, Haeydenne." He said, nuzzling his muzzle into her blond locks. "You make me feel timeless."

...

Hello again! Chapter two is up! I actually made this one first, but I forgot about it until I had already posted. Anywho, this time it's Forsaken Mage Haeydenne and Worgen DK Marik. Marik has a pretty sad story behind him, and I hope to someday write it. Haeydenne's is not as well thought out, but she helped draw Marik out of his shell, to accept his undeath. It's a hard knock life. Enjoy!


	3. Strength

Strength.

Azerieh knew everything there was to know about strength. Strength was shown in a lot of ways, and she took great pride in being able to identify strength no matter how it manifested.

Her own strength, and she loved to brag, was considerable. Being a warrior, she'd received training that essentially told one to beat something bloody until the rage simmered down. Her muscles were hefty, having lifted things three times her size, forced in doors and rammed axes through the skulls of her enemies. Strength, she learned from her time with the Orcs, was a coveted quality that required discipline, something few individuals had. It required training, toning one's body and forcing it to adapt to new heights, lifting more, striking harder, more power.

Strength of the body was something she understood very well. Without strength of body, a warrior would not exist. The body was their very weapon, the swords or axes merely a tool the weapon channeled its energies into. It was truly an extension of herself. Her true strength showed when she fought, the sheen of sweat upon her brow, her muscles bulging with effort. The grunt of victory that came before the victory roar.

Indeed. She knew strength of the body.

Strength in numbers, too, she knew. Having fought against the scourge alone, and with company, she could say that it was always easier to do so with someone by her side. The more people that were there to support her, the stronger she was, and by proxy, they were. Having her comrades from her guild assisted in this, fighting stronger enemies and saving Azeroth torment from certain creatures who would otherwise cause devastation.

Their strength was her strength. Her strength was their strength. They fought like an ancient tribe of warriors, attacking as one, and breathing as one. Crying out as one. Cheering as one.

Tenacity too was a strength she knew all too well. Her very sister, having scoured continents in search of their undead sister, had finally been found on Northrend, approaching the vile citadel that Azerieh knew was the cause of her family's heartache.

"You can't keep doing this to yourself, Tristee!" She had said, her voice cracking with the bitter cold. "She is dead. She is gone. She is one of _them."_ She had pointed to the blasted citadel, her breaths heaving, her eyes wide. Trying to convey anything to her. Her sister Xaedrienne stood silently next to Tristee, her eyes trained on the two siblings warily.

"She isn't one of them, she's our sister!" Tristee had argued, her face darkening in rage, her violet eyes flashing dangerously. "You're so high up on your pedestal that you won't accept that a majority of the Death Knights have regained-"

"A majority!" She had scoffed, hands on her hips, clinking against the frosted edges. "Do you even hear yourself? Let it go! Come home, both of you! Stop worrying our parents on a wild goose chase in the middle of scourge territory for a ghost!"

It was then that Azerieh realized how much strength of will Tristee truly had. She steeled herself, planting her feet firmly on the ground, and crossed her arms defiantly, turning up her nose at her sister.

"No." Tristee had said, her tone even with finality. "If you want to give up on our sister, fine. But I won't give up. I will search as long as it takes to find her." She had uncrossed her arms, her violet eyes almost seeming to be ablaze. "But don't you dare try to stop me. I'm not weak. I can more than take care of myself."

Azerieh had been taken aback, but she knew that look. That was the look of a true fighter, someone who was not ready to back down. Would never back down. In that moment, she came to realize that sometimes strength didn't come in a physical form. Sometimes, tenacity would take its place, and form a strength one could stand upon.

Magic had never made sense to Azerieh, but it too had strength.

Blaze looked at Azerieh, his amber eyes burning as he casted a firebolt that completely obliterated a target dummy in Warspear. Orc grunt passersby jumped at the flames and scurried away in a hurry, glancing in shock at the short-stack mage who had destroyed a heavily used training tool. Azerieh shrugged, not as impressed as he had expected. She had seen her Warlock sister case fire spells before. It wasn't like it was new.

The goblin mage scratched his head, his teal mohawk ruffling against his fingers. His eyes became wide with excitement, and he steeled himself for a really blast-worthy display.

That day, Azerieh learned that magic required strength too. And control. Something Blaze had very little of.

At least he'd be getting her some stronger armor.

...

Hello! I'm back again! This time the main focus is Azerieh, Goblin Warrior. This one isn't so much romantic as perhaps the others will be, but Azerieh's story still needs a little work. I picture her as kind of a hard-ass, and haven't focused on too much of her story. But, Blaze can maybe warm up her heart a little. Eh? Alright I'm done with the terrible puns.


	4. Anamnesis

Anamnesis

Aeleria walked along the shiny crystalline hallways of Shattrath. The glittering amethyst crystal glinted with candlelight, flickering along the many planes, a beautiful sight to behold both to foreign and domestic eyes.

But Aeleria was really neither of these. Once, when she had been alive and flourishing with the touch of the light, she had looked upon the crystals that sheltered her and her family for years, feeling at one with the sights, the sounds, the smells. So young and naive was she. Unknowing of the perils of the outside world. Her bright eyes trained upon the Naaru, Or'os, with whom she'd personally felt close.

She passed a humble merchant and sighed when she saw the woman's eyes widen in shock, taking a step back as she averted the cold blue gaze of the draenei death knight. Once, her passing by had not been such a shock. Once, her walking these halls had merited smiles, laughter. Now, it only brought discomfort, and sorrow. A plight of her new life, or rather, unlife, she thought to herself bitterly.

She continued to walk through the halls, trying to find her way to an area she hadn't been to in many years, one that would give her some answers to the questions that burned in her head. Some of the halls had changed, been added to, since she had been gone. New, young draenei circled around, playing and laughing, oblivious to her arrival into their atrium. She veered away from them, not wanting to interrupt their play. Children especially were fearful of her appearance. She drew her hood tighter around her neck, covering the gruesome scar that lay there.

A warm aroma reminded Aeleria of home. A crisp smell, sweet and tart, a treat. She wracked her brain, but could not remember the name, nor whom she had remembered making such a succulent morsel.

Curious, she wandered close to a small section where a home was made. A cove, not very large, sat quaintly amoungst the living district, it's bright colors a reminder of something distant in her past. Sensing something amiss, she was about to turn, when a short scuffle was heard, and a gasp.

"Aeleria?"

She immediately turned around, her eyes wide as she took in the face of her husband, Vortus. His ebony hair was tucked delicately behind his ears, his facial tentacles adorned with the same gold bands he'd worn years before. His face looked tired, but not a day older than when she'd spoken to him last.

"It... It is you, isn't it?" He asked, his voice trembling, his hands reached out toward her. "It's been... I haven't seen you... I thought you were..." He seemed to struggle with coming up with the words he wanted to say, and Aeleria nearly choked on the memories that suddenly threatened to consume her.

"It is I, Vortus." She replied, her echoing voice making her flinch. She hated it. She sounded so... cold.

"I had prepared for your death." He said, his eyes sorrowful. "I did not know you had been raised again." He searched her face, confused.

"This is... unexpected." He said flatly. He suddenly looked worried. Aeleria narrowed her eyes suspiciously. It occured to her suddenly that Vortus was not one to hide things, and it was immediately apparent that he was hiding something. When she was alive, she had truly loved this man. It didn't hurt, however, that she could tell he was keeping something from her. Rather, it was an annoyance. A break in faith in the living. Something she was working hard to restore.

"Did no one tell you of my death?" She responded, her voice more emotionless than she had intended. She got a strange satisfaction from his flinching form, and tried hard to hide any of her sadistic tendancies, unsure of how to approach one's lost life.

"I was told but..."His face was suddenly unreadable, and she felt unsure. "I still had this hope... Light willing, that you would come back, but..."

"Papa, Averi wants me to visit for supper and-" A small voice began.

Aeleria stiffened, feeling something break inside her. Vortus looked panicked, seeing Aeleria's rigid form, and moving to block the small draenei girl that had walked up innocently, her wide eyes trained on Aeleria's shadowed face, her pale green hair curling gently at the ends. Aeleria could not bring herself to walk away. To turn away and never return to Shattrath, never again burden these kind people with her horrific presence. She was fixated on this small child, her teal skin still flawless and clean, her eyes bright and wide, her body still young. Innocent. Untainted. She whipped her head around so she could look into Vortus' eyes, the dam within her soul threatening to burst.

"Do not do anything rash, Aeleria." Vortus said gently, a hand moving the young girl behind him. "This is not the place for-"

"Is that mama?" The girl's head poked out from behind Vortus, her eyes widened with curiousity. She trained her gaze on Aeleria, slowly moving from behind her father.

"Havana, please-" Vortus said, reaching to stop the girl. But she turned to her father, a scowl upon her face.

"Papa, please." She said, suddenly seeming older and more mature. Aeleria still hadn't moved, frozen. Havana walked up gently to Aeleria, gently tugging on her arm, drawing her to her knees. She pushed back Aeleria's hood, allowing pale green hair to tumble out uncontrollably, splaying onto her shoulders and framing her pale face. Aeleria's hand struck out to cover her neck reflexively, worried about the gruesome wound. But Havana merely gently pushed her hand away, placing a soft hand against the scarred skin, her brow furrowing gently.

"You've been hurt, mama." She said. "And you don't let anyone see how much you hurt." She looked into Aeleria's cold eyes, not wavering her gaze, nor did she show signs of fear. Inside, Aeleria was hesitant. The last time she'd held her daughter, she was but an infant. Small, weak, and so precious. She had little hair, but her smile and coos could light up a room. She was not able to speak, nor crawl, but her very presense had inspired laughter. This child had grown, from years without her mother. Years with just her father, suffering without her. Because of her.

A warm embrace broke Aeleria out of her despair, startling her as she felt warm tears against her cheek, streaming from her daughter's face.

"I'm so glad you finally came home, mama." She said, smiling through the tears. "I knew you would never forget us."

...

This one was a little emotional for me, as I have a young daughter, and I can only imagine how difficult it would be to be away for a long time and come home to a child who is older than how you left them. Coincidentally, this will be happening to me next year, as I deploy away from family for about 8 months. It will be hard, but I have faith that things will work out. Until then, enjoy this story. Aeleria is a Draenei DK, her husband is a Draenei baker. :)


	5. Coveted

Coveted

Tristee was not stupid.

Her sister Azerieh liked to roll her eyes and wag her fingers in her direction whenever she was in the presense of Krag, but Tristee would flip her fingers into a curved shape upon her forhead, making it clear she was not amused with her sister's strange type of teasing. Azerieh would smirk, having learned to love her sister for the way she was, rather than just tolerating her, and walk away, knowing she was right. Tristee hated that walk.

Krag rarely left his little hutch in Orgrimmar, preferring to be near the city where there were plenty of people to mess with. All of his herbs and potions were stacked to one side of the room, his simple cot on the other, more than capable of holding his healthy Orc body up.

Tristee's coven was located in a small section of Orgrimmar's cleft of Shadows, and it was here she spoke with Krag the most. He was a simple orc, preferring silence to speech, darkness to light, and loneliness to company. But he liked her. He let her blabber on about her day, smiling lightly beneath his dark hood. He allowed her to make suggestions for his potions, and even let her try to add some of her enchantments to them. He accompanied her through areas where there were stronger creatures that she couldn't quite take on by herself, without asking for anything in return. She was more than greatful for that, as sometimes she guiltily sent her Voidwalker out to meet an enemy and well... It didn't always end well.

Krag did not speak about many things, in fact he was mostly mute, save for an occasional grunt or pointing at something and gesturing what he wanted done with it. She never asked him why he didn't speak, she respected his silence. His work was meticulous, and she envied him that. Her patience was often thin, and she could hardly focus on any potion making, let alone inscripting tomes, or working with certain mats to create spellweave. Their coven often loved to purchase his wares, whatever they might be, ranging from potions, to tomes, to robes of fine silk.

But Tristee was often jealous.

Being in Orgrimmar, meant that there were a lot of Orcs. Normally, this would not bother her. But if she were being honest with herself...

She took a quick sidelong glance at Krag, who was busying himself with grinding some berries into a fine juice to use for one of his potions. He was rather young, his green skin unmarked, exposing his profession. His hair was ebony, and cropped and spiky, though it was often flattened by his hood. His turquoise eyes were always trained upon his work.

It was this that drew them in.

Many Orcs respected Krag. He was a well known hero from the Lich King's downfall. Tristee herself had witnessed as he and a select few heroes, including her sisters Xaedrienne and Crysanthemum, came out, triumphant from Ice Crown Citadel, a ray of hope shining through the death of the Lich King.

But none of them had talked about it. It was like it was too painful to discuss, and details had been avoided at all costs. Krag seemed to take it to the extreme, refusing to speak of the encounter to anyone. His mysteriousness paired with his heroic status made him all the more... desirable, for a life mate.

Tristee knew it was unreasonable, but she coveted the type of relationship he would inevitably have. A strong warrior Orcess would come forth, and stake a claim, and, should her reputation precede her, he would invite her to a hunt. Assuming the hunt, and the mating ritual that followed, went well, he and said woman would be bound together as life mates.

She could see the wandering eyes that were full of curiosity, impressed by his accomplishments, each willing to be asked to hunt.

But... he never did ask.

So for now, Tristee could breath easily.

...

Well, here's the next one! I hope you area all enjoying these, some are really difficult to write! Anyway, enjoy! This is My warlock babies, Tristee the goblin and Krag the Orc. :)


	6. Strife

Strife

He could hardly believe his ears when he heard her say the words, "You'll get that foul muzzle of yours out of here, I can't stand to look at you!" Never had he imagined his one true love, the only person he'd ever cared for, was telling him she hated him. That she couldn't stand to look at him. That he was a foul creature, not the man she'd loved in life. His ears twitched, almost as if they too could not believe what they had heard. He gaped, his sharp teeth bared in an almost snarl as he looked at her, her brown eyes angry, her worgen form raised on hackles, hair standing on end.

It wasn't supposed to be like this. It hadn't started like this. It couldn't be ending like this.

When he'd walked into Gilneas, it had been the first time in a long time. Since before he'd been afflicted with the Worgen curse. Since before he'd become a man. Before he'd been trapped in an endless painful maze of torture in Shadowfang Keep. He hadn't returned there, even after being freed, instead having joined the Argent Dawn.

But she'd still seen him, still wanted to see him, then. Her beautiful brown eyes gentle, conveying her druidic nature. Her soft auburn hair glinting ruby in the sunlight as she dedicated her hands to her tasks. He hadn't known then that she too had fallen prey to the Gilneas worgen attacks. She had gained control quickly, able to change herself to her human form. To hide it.

Marik was sure that Lisabeth would be willing to marry him, once he'd completed his mission in the Eastern Plaguelands.

But... he had gotten sick. Infected with the plague shortly after losing one of his comrades to the scourge. He'd insisted his camp leave him behind, he'd find a way to survive on his own. He was pained to watch his comrades leave, but he had known it was for the best.

His undeath was painful. It was as if he was suffocated by undeath, suffocated by the unholy runes that controlled his body. The light had tried not to forsake him, but he had killed so many, obeying the law of the Lich King. Soon, the Light faded away altogether, and his unholy transformation had been complete.

Sometime later, when he had regained his senses, his first response, his first instinct, was to see her. To see her beautiful face. To know that she still loved him, despite his matted fur, his cold icy eyes. Despite all the horrible things he'd done. To look past it all, in hopes that perhaps...

He didn't know what he had expected. Walking into Gilneas as he was should have been enough of a clue. The people were not prepared to welcome in a Death Knight. The scourge threat was still abundant, and that too of the Lich King. His disappearance into Icecrown Citadel had not comforted the people, rather spread unease as his previous soldiers of death shook off the control he'd bent upon them, struggling to regain some sense of self that they'd lost. As such, the gasps, the sobs, he should have known they couldn't welcome him with open arms.

And neither could she.

She hadn't really changed, in the time he'd been gone. Her hair was longer, a plait down her back, which was adorned in gentle leathers in woodsy colors. Her face was flush with the heat, and her hands dark with the earth that she was planting in. He didn't think, he just went, walking straight up to her as if nothing had changed. As if he had not been gone for years.

"Lisabeth."

When she turned, it was slowly, her shoulders tense, and the expression on her face of pure fear. He recoiled, realizing what his appearance meant to her. She was confused. Scared. Likely angry. But all he could think of in that moment was how much he wanted to touch her face.

"Mar...Marik?" She said, her voice hoarse. He went to take a step forward, but she threw out a hand, taking him aback.

"D-don't you come any closer." She barked out, beginning to sound feral. "You... You're a monster!"

The transformation was sudden, her athletic body transforming instantly, her hackles raised, her mouth in a snarl. Her pupils were dilated and her teeth were bared threateningly.

"Lisabeth... Don't you-"

"Do not speak to me as if you are the same, Marik." She spat out, her claws raised. "You reek of death. Of disease. I could smell it on you as you approached." She snarled, taking a step back cautiously.

"Come to kill me, as a cruel joke, have you?" She spoke, though not directly at Marik. "The Lich King has no end to his cruelty. Sending my dead lover to end my life." Marik recoiled, not wanting to believe her.

"Lisabeth, I am not here to ki-"

"Do not speak, creature!" She snarled angrily, her arms raised defensively. "I will not allow you to try to trick me. I've come to accept Marik's death. As far as I'm concerned, you are just a parasite inhabiting his body." She sent a disgusted look up and down his body, her hair raising on end.

"Do us all a favor, and leave this place. Now. Before I end your second life." She growled. Marik shook his head in disbelief.

"Lisabeth please-"

"Are you deaf, monster?"

"I'm not-"

"Get out of my house! Get out of my town!" She howled, her voice anguished. Marik was in shock, unsure of what to do.

"Lisabeth please!" He shouted, desperate. "I love you! This is me! The Lich King no longer controls us!" He pleaded, his eyes trained on hers. She looked at him. Hesitant.

"Please." He said, but she snarled and swiped at him, forcing him to jump backwards.

"You'll get that foul muzzle of yours out of here, I can't stand to look at you!"

It hurt, to hear those words, and he'd thought he couldn't hurt any more. Looking at her, he saw that all he was doing was causing her more pain. She would never accept him as he was. Not like this.

He cursed this form. He cursed the Lich King. In a way, he cursed her too. For being unable to see that he still loved her.

He ran for the hills, a familiar place, where he could be alone. The loneliness would keep him sane, for now. He knew that soon he would be unable to stop himself from self destruction. It was only a matter of time.

...

Alright! So I got this word prompt from a friend, so now I gave you a little more about Marik, my unholy DK baby. Prior to Haeydenne, Marik was, in a sense, betrothed to Lisabeth, a Worgen Druid. However as you can see... she was not prepared for Marik to be turned into what he is now. Anyhoo, enjoy! I hope these shorts are entertaining!


	7. Remorse

Remorse

Dessicus would often go to the holy temples of the light to reflect, his concious usually pretty clear, though at times, even he had to admit, not the most holy. The gentle light that shone through colored glass was soothing, almost cleansing, and as the sun's position changed, the colors too did warp, and he felt at ease in such a holy place, the light breathing, feeling. Ever present.

Gone, had most of the Cardinals and priests, having done their prayers and moved on to other activities. Instead, he sat, alone in the pews, his eyes trained on the stained glass, the colors displaying on his face.

"Staying in late tonight, Dessicus?" Dessicus turned to face Northum, a Dranei Paladin that he'd trained with long ago. He looked amused at the blood elf, his face crinkled in a smile.

"Only a little longer." Dessicus said, shaking a stray bang away from his face. "I don't want to disturb anyone who may want to repent alone." Northum shook his head and chuckled.

"Few come here after dark, my friend." He said, patting the Paladin Blood Elf's shoulder amicably. "You are welcome to the light as much as you want. The light does not choose favorites, as I'm sure you know."

Dessicus rolled his eyes and smiled at his friend. Indeed, the light could be strong with anyone who accepted it into their hearts. He allowed himself a brief moment to commune with the light, before beginning to exit, Northum not far behind him.

"Plans for tonight, my friend?" the Draenei asked, clasping an armor-clad gauntlet carefully. "I was thinking of seeing to the inn. A good ale would do good for the soul." Dessicus laughed, amused.

"I would love an ale, let us go." As they walked, Dessicus spotted a short figure, cloaked in dark colors, headed for the chapel he had just left. His curiousity getting the better of him, he turned to Northum.

"Hey, I'll catch up, I just remembered something." Dessicus said, waving at Northum. Northum shrugged, calling after him, "Don't be too long, or you're ale will grow warm!"

Dessicus waved to his friend, following the short shadow that seemed to be cautiously watching it's steps. Based on the height alone he'd have to say if was a goblin or a dwarf, though the thin-ness suggested the former. Their hood was drawn, and their cloak wrapped around large pauldrons, and the chinking of armor betrayed them as a plate wearer. Dessicus was curious why they'd want to be at the chapel so late.

He followed the shadow to the courtyard, where a memorial was erected. Upon it were names of thousands of citizens, warriors, and royals alike, that had met their ends during the war against the Lich King. Since the Cataclysm, many names had been added, though seperate from the lives that had been claimed by the scourge.

He watched as the shadowed figure reached up to touch the names, and he realized it was a goblin. A female. Her shiny armor was form fitting and seemed... alive. It made his wary, but still, he watched, curious. Why was she here?

An echoed voice made chills roll down his spine, and for a moment, he was frozen in place.

"I'm sorry." Her voice, not entirely her own echoed. "I ended so many lives..." The tone was monotonous, almost as if she were speaking words from a chant. He recognized the undertones of her voice, they were familiar. He tried to picture a face, but drew blank. He drew closer, wondering what a Death Knight was doing in such a holy place, late at night, sneaking around.

"I failed..." She trailed off, her hand slowly tracing the names, at least the ones she could reach. "My duties as a Paladin had been clear. But I was not strong enough to fight him at first." She rested a hand on the carved stone, her gauntlets gleaming in the moonlight. "I fell to the scourge, and rose again to end your lives... and for that, I am more sorry than you will ever know."

Dessicus knew this sounded familiar. He could almost picture a face, it was there, teasing him, tantalizing. Goblin paladin's didn't exist. He'd only knew one. He hadn't seen her in ages. Years.

"I am guilty for each and every one of you." She said. "I cannot take back what I did." Her echoed voice sounded off as she ended her speech, almost sorrowful. She was repentant. She regreted her sins. She was here as an act of contrition.

For a fraction of a second, she turned, and the light caught her face just right. Dessicus's eyes widened, and forgetting all decorum, rushed out from behind the pillar, needing the proof, needing to see it for himself.

"Crysanthemum!?"

...

This is kind of a prequal to the first little short, but I'm still working out some of the kinks in Crysanthemum's story. Crysanthemum is actually my main in WoW, and Dessicus is a name that all of my spouse's characters have, or some variation. Anyone who has read my previous work will notice Crysanthemum may hop from character to character, and this is not intentional. It is a result of my alt-aholic husband.

Enjoy!


	8. Ambiguity

...

Hi guys! So to answer a couple reviews, I do not know where I'm deploying yet, I am going to a ship and that's about as much as I know. I'm glad you are liking the story so far! It's good to see people really getting into the stories. I enjoy writing them, and I hope to keep it interesting!

...

Ambiguity

Blaze knew he had messed up.

He was walking, minding his own buisness in Orgrimmar when he came across a small trolly with flowers on it. He stared as the goblin selling them pushed the trolly around, yelling out prices randomly as he walked into the goblin slums. Blaze wondered briefly why the sudden buisness in selling something so frivolous, before remembering that it was the annual "Love is in the Air" Festival. So of course, certain parties would be interested in purchasing something like flowers and presenting them to someone that they were attracted to.

Well Blaze wasn't having it. He had no interest in participating in these silly activities, and he most certainly didn't have a "special someone" to share it with.

No-sir-ee. He was just fine, staying away from the festivities and drinking a good ale at the local bar.

"Oy! Blaze!" The goblin in question turned, looking at his lady friend, Azerieh. She was stomping towards him, her flaming red hair pulled into a very neat braid, her eyes seeming to be on fire, her shoulders hunched forward.

"Er... Yes?" He said, questioning what he could have possibly done wrong this time. He wracked his brain carefully, but it all came up blank. But boy did she look mad.

"What the heck is this?" She said, shoving a very overdone, glittery pink heart parchment, covered in bubble red letters with little smiley faces and hearts splayed about the page. He read the text quickly, realizing that at the end, it said his name, signed in almost perfect forgery of his signature. He was actually quite impressed.

"Where did you get that?" He asked, swiping it out of her hand and reading it closer, admiring how close the penmanship was to his own. "Do you really think that I would give you something like this? It's so... tacky."

"Are you trying to cover up that you did it by saying it's forged?" Azerieh asked warily, snatching it back and placing her hands on her hips. He looked her over carefully. She was a very well trained warrior, and he wasn't really in the mood to upset her. He'd already earned enough bruises from her punches, and he wasn't keen on more. Her purple eyes were trained on his face, scanning it for any trace of falsity, which he had to say, he was proud he could keep a pretty straight face. A stray curl fell into her face, and he felt the sudden urge to move it back into place. He shook his head.

"Why would I go to all that trouble anyway?" He said. "Definitely too much work for me. You know how lazy I am." Azerieh quirked an eyebrow.

"What are you trying to say, that you wouldn't do something like this for me?"

Oh no. Abort. Abort!

"I mean, it's not really like me." He said sheepishly, trying to divert. "I mean, you're a cool gal and all-"

"But what, I'm not good enough for a love letter?"

Oh boy.

"Now Az, I didn't say that and you know it." He said, sensing greatly that he was in danger of getting pummeled. He took a couple steps back, his hands in the air in surrender. "Don't twist my words."

But it was already too late. She was already furious at him.

"I see how it is Blaze Flareblitz." She said, poking him hard in the chest. _Ow._

"Well take this fake note back. Have fun with yourself this festival Blaze." She stormed off, and in that moment, Blaze became very aware that he had done the one thing no man should do. Piss off a woman. He sighed, scratching his head. What was he thinking? He looked down at the crumpled note, confused as all fel and not quite sure what to do next.

"I take it she didn't appreciate your confession of love." A sly voice came out, startling him slightly.

"Lebkha, what did you do." Blaze asked, knowing this was likely all her fault.

"Well, I was hoping she wouldn't get _mad_ about it persay." Lebkha said, scratching symbols into the dirt. "But apparently my cousin is picky about how she get's confessed to-"

"Lebkha-" Blaze said, facepalming. "What were you thinking? I had no intentions of 'confessing' anything to Azerieh."

"I know!" She said brightly. "So I did it for you! You're both so dense, I figured I'd help you out a bit!"

Blaze groaned, thinking quickly.

"Well I better go explain all this to her. I don't want her to be mad at me forever." He said, rushing off. "You stay out of my love life next time Lebkha! I can take care of it myself!"

Lebkha waved as he ran off, giggling. She looked down to her pet cinder kitten, who was licking her molten fur and purring loudly. She giggled and peered off into the distance.

"Ah, young love."

...

Woo this one is a doozy. I hope you all enjoyed it! Onto more stories!


	9. Magnanimous

Magnanimous

Xotufexo had to say, if anyone could be the epitome of kindness, it would be Alstromerea.

As forsaken, it was only natural to feel as if the new life given to them was more of a burden than anything else. He knew he in particular struggled at times with the loss of normalcy, his bones showing through thin skin that decayed and frayed at the edges. His eyes no longer blue, but a glowing yellow that proved his undeath. In his early unlife, he had been angry, full of rage. He didn't ask for this life. He hadn't asked to be raised from death. But the Banshee queen was kind. She'd offered him a place in her city, a place where he could be amongst others just like him.

All he'd wanted was to pick up his bow and hunt again. The thrill of being the predator, not the prey. That was what he wanted.

It was easy to find his grave, where he'd been buried. His bow lain next to where his body had been. Still in good condition, he dusted it off, testing the string, deciding that it needed to be replaced. He pulled out his quiver, all the arrows still intact, and went off to tame a new creature.

Months later, he'd run into her. She was young when she died, he'd known that much. She was smaller, more frail looking than many other forsaken. Her face was untouched by death, though sallow and gaunt, and her shining eyes betrayed her undeath. Her hair was lengthy, and cut to frame her face. She was lovely, and he felt that he'd never seen such a woman even in life.

Alstromerea was not just lovely. She cared about everyone, and everything. She took care of the more decrepit forsaken, and healed many that came wounded from battle, or broken from decay. He always paid close attention to her face, because she seemed to exude some sight of peace, which he felt like transferred to him while he watched her.

What he found strange was _how_ she did it. She was a priest, and innately, as such, was already kind and helpful. But she was a _holy_ priest, and that in itself was a mystery.

It was well known amoung the forsaken that the light burned. So forsaken were they, that instead of a soothing heal that could mend them, it was more like a cauterizing brand. But, it was even worse for the caster, whom it was rumored to have the effects of causing intense, excrutiating pain, in addition to making undeath... more obvious.

He wasn't sure, but he suspected Alstormerea had felt that pain more than anyone else.

But she never changed her ways, and she always remained kind.

He envied her humility, and her kindness. He was very fond of her for it.

And when she smiled at him gently, asking him how his day was, He could almost feel his dead heart flutter.

...

Alrighty! I think I'm done with these for tonight. But I've got quite a few up! So! Here we have Alstromerea, Forsaken Holy Priest, and Xotufexo, Forsaken Hunter. Enjoy!


	10. Gift

Gift

Crysanthemum sat boredly at the squat desk located in her inn room, her eyes fixated on a small drawn portrait of her three sisters. It had been done in Silvermoon city, shortly after the Cataclysm had erupted through Azeroth, and Deathwing had loomed as a shadow of discourse throughout the land. They'd gotten the picture done with the hope that it wouldn't be their last, also hoping to remind Crysanthemum that she was still family, despite what had happened to her.

She looked at her sister's smiling faces and sighed, feeling nothing except numbness. Her drive to protect them did not derive from a caring nature that she had had once in her life. Unfortunately, the kindness that had once enveloped her soul had long since been banished, it's return longed for, but not expected. She was driven purely by a sense of guilt for all the lives she'd ended, and by some sense of responsibility. Nothing else made sense to her.

Though recently...

She'd found that recently many things had changed. The Legion had returned, trying to again collapse all she had left in this world. Crysanthemum felt herself seeth at the mere thought. Her sister's were each campaigning through their class halls, doing their part to stop the Legion's advance. She too, had her comrades, the four horseman, to work against the Legion at all costs. Traversing across the Broken Isles she'd discovered that there was much still at stake. Many dangers. She, in a sense, feared for her sisters. They were strong, but she knew how it felt to die. The anguish was not easy to bear.

"Crys, I got you something."

Crysanthemum peeled her eyes away from the portrait to see Dessicus having entered her room, holding a strange green box, wrapped in winter veil paper. She quirked an eyebrow at him, curious.

"What is it?" She asked monotonously. Dessicus rolled his eyes and plopped the box on the desk unceremoniously, crossing his arms and looking at the box with a strange expression on his face.

"Just open it." He insisted, gently placing his hand on her shoulder. She leaned into him for a moment, a small comfort in her unlife. She and Dessicus had just recently... reaquainted, and despite the trials they'd gone through recently with the Legion's return, he still cared for her deeply, and she felt comfort in that.

She turned her full attention to the box, untying the bow and slowly opening the top, peering inside.

A very _fel_ aura emanated from the box, and she almost shut the box without looking inside, but her curiousity took the better of her. She sat up, and peered inside, to see a dark gray furball, green fel-runes inscribed along it's curved spine. The creature was sleeping, it's breaths even, as if it hadn't even been disturbed by the ride over, or being placed so roughly on her desk. She reached her left hand inside, picking up the creature to discover-

"It's a cat." She deadpanned. She heard a chuckle and looked up at Dessicus, who was looking at her good naturedly.

"Oh, it's not just _any_ cat." He insisted. He held out his hand and she deposited the kitten into his hand, watching it warily.

"This little monster," He said, scratching the creature's head, waking it up. "Is a little troublemaker." The kitten yawned, mewling, and opened its pupiless fel green eyes, immediately turning to Crysanthemum.

"Mwrawr." It mewed at her. She blinked at it. Dessicus laughed.

"Well, I guess he likes you already." He said, depositing the kitten onto her shoulders. The kitten rubbed his face along Crysanthemum's, purring a strange echoed purr.

"Where did you find him?" She asked, petting the happy cat, who proceeded to nuzzle himself into the crook of Crysanthemum's neck, and bat at a stray curl hanging from her ear.

"He was snooping around Azuna." He said, plopping onto the bed and laying back. "I found him near a small cove. All the demons there were terrified of this little creature. So after I disposed of them, I picked him up and decided he'd be a good pet for you."

"You picked up a random stray from a demon infested area, and gave him to me as a pet?" She asked in disbelief. Dessicus nodded, seemingly unperturbed.

"Why, you don't like him?" He asked. Crysanthemum pet the creature, who let out a soft "mew" in response.

"He's plenty cute." She said. "But it concerns me that he was... scaring demons."

"That's why I think he's perfect for you." Dessicus insisted, smirking. "He scares demons, and you scare little kids. It's like the same thing."

The desk lamp had seen better days.

...

SO, I just had to write a little short about mischief, I was so excited to see the little felkitten pet! I got it the day it came out, and I could just imagine how my character would recieve this little fella. Unfortunately, Dess has no decorum, and will probably have to sleep on the couch.

Ah well, at least Crys will have a kitten to cuddle. ;P Enjoy!


	11. Rendezvous

Rendezvous

...

Retzel sat on a squat stool, her pale blonde pigtails swaying as she swished, back and forth on the stool, humming to herself and staring at the ceiling dreamily. The ceiling was painted to look like a gentle summer day, the clouds lazily floating by, the sun bright and luminous. She was always fascinated by the opulent paintings that she saw upon the polished ceilings of their structures, where mechanical prowess was coveted.

She waited on her friend, Adel, to get off of work. The girl worked slowly, and had no sense of hustle, unable to sense her friend's impatience. Luckily for her, Retzel was very good at hiding her impatience, and was often distracted by peculiar things, such as bright colors, sounds that were unusual, and inventions beyond one's imagination.

"I'm sorry!" Adel said, her short legs hobbling over to Retzel as quickly as they would go. Her brown hair, pulled back into a low ponytail, swished across her back evenly as she hurried, amusing Retzel.

"It's okay, c'mon!" Retzel replied, hopping off of her stool and gesturing to the door. "We have time to grab some nourishment before I have to go to training!"

"Agreed," Adel said, her brown eyes wide as she adjusted her bag on her shoulder. "I am simply famished!"

The two friends waltz, side by side, into the neutral inn and bar in Dalaran, where those from both factions could come to relax, eat and drink, and be merry, despite the dire circumstances for which they were there.

"How has traveling the Broken Isles been?" Adel asked once they had settled into a comfortable cushioned booth, menus open and feet dangling off the seats.

"Troubling to say the least." Retzel admitted, eyeing her staff listlessly. "There are no shortage of the wounded here. Healing has taken quite the toll on my demeanor since I've been around."

"I could tell." Adel said, eyeing her worridly. "You haven't even been asking about your 'client'." Retzel's face immediately changed pallor, her coloring that of a Nagrand cherry.

"Sshh!" She shooshed her friend, looking around wildely. "Don't mention that so callously!"

"I thought that was why we named him your 'client'." Adel said in bemusement. "So that we could talk about it in public without prying ears or curious eavesdroppers?" Retzel sat back, sighing, pausing to order an aged red wine when asked by the barmaid. Turning her attention back to Adel, she sighed again, scratching her chin.

"I suppose you are correct." she said, her green eyes trained on the door, as if expecting someone to come through it at any moment. "I've just become paranoid since I've gotten here..."

"Understandable." Adel said, thanking the barmaid for her amber colored wine. Retzel took a sip and sighed, happy to tast the bitter drink. "But I do have a message for you concerning him."

"You do?" Retzel said excitedly, her eyes widening, her body hanging over the table. Adel rolled her eyes, but chuckled at the young gnome.

"Yes, it looks like he wrote it himself. His written common could use some work." Retzel admonished Adel with her eyes, but her friend was unapologetic, merely handing over the short note without comment. Retzel unfolded the parchment delicately, allowing herself to read the words slowly, without missing anything on the page.

"He wants to... meet up... tomorrow." She said slowly. "You were right, his written common is extremely rudimentary, for someone who spend so much time in Booty Bay."

"Indeed." Adel commented, taking a bit out of the sourdough bread that had been placed before her hungrily. "However, the fact that he knows it at all is more impressive in my opinion. What with his choice of faction." Retzel gazed at her friend sourly, wishing she would for once be happy for her, rather than nitpicking her choice in lover.

"I'm quite happy regardless." Retzel replied instead, choosing to ignore her friends bait. Adel narrowed her eyes gently, but made no other comment. They ate in companionable silence for a while, and the darkness began to settle. Retzel stretched her arms and hopped down from the booth, gently attaching her staff to its holster.

"I need to be off now, but thank you for the note." Retzel said. "You can thank your co-worker for me too, since she's the one truly smuggling them in."

"Not a problem, despite my own personal preference, I respect your decisions. I'll let Kizi know you appreciate her." Retzel laughed, bidding her friend good night, and headed for the alliance side of Dalaran, where a portal would lead her to her priest hall. Luckily for her, it was quiet, and she was able to relax before her training would begin. She pulled out her note, smiling at Daz's chicken-scratch handwriting with affection. She clasped the note to her bosom, and smiled, hoping the day would speed by, and her rendez-vous would come all the more sooner.

...

Hi there! I think this is going to end up being a two-parter, as I had a different ending in mind but well... that didn't quite work out as intended. Anyway, I have Daz Leybomb, a Shadow Priest Goblin, and Retzel Sparkfuse, a Discipline Priest and Gnome. That's right. I went there. :) Enjoy! And until next time! 3


	12. Frenzy

Frenzy

Isolde ran as quickly as her aching legs would carry her, her body bruised and battered, her skin cut and burning in places. The woods, normally a comfort to her, were now a burden, seemingly preventing her from escaping her adversary, his dagger held above his head, his eyes crazed as he persued her, murder in his eyes.

She panted as she ran, ducking beneath long boughs and through lush forrestry, trying anything to get further away from him.

He'd arrived out of nowhere, his hulking Orc form bulkier than most, but he moved with the speed of a lithe panther, taking her by surprise when he intially tackled her to the ground, pulling out a jagged dagger and pressing it to her throat. He spoke, his hot breath on her face, in orcish, and she struggled to remain calm, to think of anything that she could do to defend herself. His body weight crushed her, and she felt herself slowly losing conciousness as her breath left her.

Hazily, she reached up to move his hand, her grip weak, and felt the Orc fly off of her body, the breath suddenly slamming into her body, making her dizzy as she tried to catch her breath. A leather clad hand was held in front of her face, and she took it, allowing the person to help her up. She shook her head, brushing off her gown, and looked at her savior. Her eyes widened as she took in the sight of another night elf, his eyes soft and his face young. He wore a hood that shaded his face from the streaming light within the trees, and his garb was dark, easily hiding him amongst the foliage.

 _A rogue._ Isolde thought to herself, looking him over.

"Thank you." She said, rubbing her arm carefully. "I would have defended myself but..."

"It's alright." He said, smiling gently at her. "I've seen you at the temples. You are a priestess. Not much one for fighting I'm sure." He tossed a casual glance at the unconcious orc.

"He should not have messed with you at all." He said frowning. "Attacking a priestess, it's sickening. Likely he didn't know though." He turned back to Isolde, his face impassive.

"You should be safe to travel to the nearest city." He said. "I could accompany you if you prefer. I'm not doing anything particularly important anyway." Isolde pondered it for a moment, and then, looking down and observing how she looked, she decided it would likely be in her best interest.

"I would definitely enjoy the company." She aquiesced, sending a small smile his way. He grinned back, and she found that she quite liked it. He seemed very amicable.

"Very well." He said, holding out an arm. "Shall we?"

...

Just a short snippet. Isolde is a Night Elf Priest, and Shiloh is a Night Elf Rogue. Enjoy!


	13. Persuasion

Persuasion

..::..::..::..::..

Illudarea walked in short steps towards the courtyard, her bright green eyes scanning warily over the masses the converged in the streets, all headed in the same direction that she was. Her plated robes clinked softly against her steel toed boots, her shoulders hot and heavy from the ceremonial plate she donned for the evening. Her lustrous red hair gleamed, slick and neat in a long plait swung across her shoulder. The throng of people cleared easily in her wake, her tall, lean silhouette almost magically clearing her path. She scanned the crowd, her eyes searching for a very particular face, one she hadn't seen in quite some time.

"Don't look so sour, Darea," A deep baritone rang out, familiar and smooth. "I wouldn't lie and tell you I was going to be here if I wasn't." Illudarea turned and smirked at the object of her search, one Dessicus Lightsworn. A paladin with many an accomplishment, his broad shoulders and athletic figure merely hinted at the muscle below, his ceremonial garments heavy and pristine, their appearance bathed in the holy light, as if the man were nearly on fire. His red hair was partially held up by a simple woven band, the strands spiked and angular, strands falling and framing his very angular face. His eyes twinkled in amusement, their fel-coloring a surefire indication of his Sin'dorei heritage. Her brother. Her family. The only family she had left.

"Easy for you to say." She teased, bumping her arm into his playfully. "I don't see you sweltering in your armor. Did you have a frost mage cast a spell on it for you to keep you cool?" Dessicus laughed, his eyes filled with mirth.

"No, couldn't find one frivolous enough to waste their mana on me." He embraced her lightly, pushing lightly on her shoulders as he observed her face. "You look well rested, despite your ire. How have you been?"

Illudarea shrugged, wriggling gently out of her brother's grasp.

"I've been worse." She offered, tugging on the plated neckpiece that seemed to radiate heat. "Not enjoying the amount of people present." Dessicus nodded, making a quick glance around.

"It is quite busy indeed." He allowed, turning to gaze at several people conversing in small groups around the courtyard. "I'm curious as to what the occasion could be." Illudarea rolled her eyes at her brother, wacking him lightly in the arm. It was well known that the meeting had been planned for months before, and that all manner of blood elves had come to Silvermoon, just to hear from Lorthemar.

"I don't suppose you've seen Ginyu around." Illudarea remarked shyly, her voice dropping in pitch slightly. Dessicus raised a wary eyebrow at his sibling, her reddening cheeks a dead giveaway. Ginyu was a farstrider, a skilled one at that, who had accompanied him many a time throughout various campaigns across Azeroth, and Draenor. It was not a secret that he held interest in Illudarea, and clearly, she too was smitten with him. He chuckeld softly, turning to the east end of the courtyard, where a man clad in fine chain-mail stood, his large rustic wolf at his side.

"He's over there. Try not to make yourself too obvious. You'll feed his already large ego." Illudarea's cheeks flared, and she pouted, her eyes nearly flickering with rage. But, she turned heel and rushed to meet her love, his dark hair swishing as he heard her rushing towards him.

"Darea!" Came the nickname, the farstrider's fel-green eyes seemingly gleaming in delight. "To what do I owe the pleasure?" Illudarea stopped short, her smile wide across her face, her lashes fluttering as she drank in his sight.

"I'll admit, even I wasn't sure you'd come back in time for the gathering." She teased, her posture leaning towards him ever so slightly. Ginyu smiled back, ruffling the fur on his wolfs head, the creature's tongue lolled out of its mouth happily.

"It was indeed a close call." He replied, a tone of seriousness. "Draenor had its fair share of troublesome obstacles. However, the campaign seemed to have gone smoothly enough. The commander was adamant about making it back here relatively quickly post-Tanaan. I can't blame her really. I think Hellfire Citadel set most of us on edge."

Illudarea nodded thoughtfully. She'd heard from her brother snippets of what was happening on the strange time-loop that had been created by Garrosh's interference in the past. Strange bird-like creatures that called themselves Arakoa, but were not as bent and feeble as the ones in Terrokar forest. Gronnling as tall as a mountain, and skeletons larger than even those. Ogres and machines of heavy steel and iron, crushing the vast and beautiful wildlife in Talador. The swirling snow and ice of Frostfire ridge. The fel corruption Gul'dan had spread in Tanaan. All of it in letters longer than she had ever received from her brother before, and details that painted a picture for her that she would likely never see.

"So I have heard." She said, her voice low. "When did you officially come back?" Ginyu seemed to think for a moment, before smiling at her.

"Now don't be upset," He said, mocking a face of discontent. "I officially got back a couple of days ago. But you wouldn't _believe_ the paperwork I've had to do." Illudarea laughed, her hands on her hips.

"Oh, not the paperwork!" She chortled playfully, giggling at his expression. He feigned despair.

"The lady makes fun of my sorrows!" He complained, though his grin gave him away. Illudarea straightened out, calming herself.

"Do you know then, why Lorthemar has called us here?" She asked, her voice lowered to draw less attention. Ginyu regained his seriousness, turning to her, angling his body away from the citizens as he spoke.

"I would suspect it has something to do with the spreading word from some doomsayers around Org, saying the Legion is returning." He said quickly. Illudarea had to hold back her surprise at that news. Though Dessicus had mentioned the Fel corruption and presense of demons in Hellfire Citadel, at no point had he mentioned that the very _Legion_ could be returning to lay waste to Azeroth yet again. She paused her thoughts as she saw Ginyu's expression. She straightened out and looked out to the platform where their leader, Lord Lorthemar stood, his gaze grim and back nearly ram-rod straight.

"Citizens of Silvermoon. Friends. Family." His voice, amplified magically, brought a heavy silence across the commons. She felt a hand on her shoulder blade and startled, looked to see Dessicus had joined her, his expression as grim as their leader's voice. Illudarea opened her mouth to question him, but Dessicus silenced her with a look, gesturing to Ginyu.

"After his speech, I need you and Ginyu to go to Orgrimmar right away." He spoke softly, but urgently, and Illudarea felt her ears twitch. "There's a war coming, despite what you may hear in the next few moments."

Sure enough, Lorthemar did not touch upon any war, merely commending the few who had travelled to Draenor, mourning those that had been lost, and celebrating those who had died in glorious battle. Illudarea could feel the tension from both Dessicus and Ginyu, their rigid stature a dead giveaway that they knew more than what was being said. Lorthemar closed with a lament about heeding warnings and listening for more information to come before disappearing into his estate, leaving behind more questions than answers. Illudarea looked away from the now empty platform and was startled by the expression upon Ginyu's face.

"We shouldn't waste time." Ginyu said, his eyes wild. "Lorthemar confirmed my suspicions moments ago. The Legion is coming. And there won't be time to prepare." He turned to Illudarea, his expression controlled. "Will you travel with me, Illudarea?" He paused, chewing on his next question. "I was waiting to ask you this but…" He glanced at Dessicus, who nodded his assent so quickly she nearly missed it. "I would like to formally court you. Our traveling together would only be natural, and, forgive my forwardness, but I feel that it is what you want as well." He clasped her hands in his own, and she felt her cheeks redden at the gentle contact. She feigned hesitation, watching his ears droop ever so slightly before chuckling, embracing the man fondly.

"Well, you never had to do much persuading with me anyway."


	14. Reunite

Twilight had come, and Xaedrienne followed it out into the dense trees that made up Valsharah, her weapon, Talonclaw, strapped to her back. Kyrie, her spiny raptor chittered beside her, her eyes wide and trained on a particularly shiny looking dreamrunner that grazed just outside the foliage that camouflaged them from the open air. Xaedrienne slowly drew her weapon, her breathing steady and low as she focused on the creature's movements. It needed to be a quick kill, the druids of Valsharah did not approve of the excess violence that some hunters had been causing, and her raptor was not known for her ability to cleanly eat.

The creature shifted its hooves carefreely, choosing a new patch of grass to consume, when Xaedrienne leapt from her place of hiding, using her weapon to slice clean through the throat of the creature, leaving a swath of blood in an arc on the ground, and a thud announcing the dreamrunner's fall to the ground. Kyrie chittered excitedly but Xaedrienne held up a hand, knowing the creature's impatience had a limit when she was hungry.

Pulling her knife out of her pack, she quickly set to work on skinning the corpse, careful to avoid tearing the thin hide, its fur worth more intact. Once the creature was skinned, she set to work on separating the meat. Meat sold high on the auction house, especially the delicacies that were found on the broken shore, but she mostly saved the meat for her pets, finding that they too enjoyed the strange meats found on the isle.

The horn was well kept and sharp as her hunting knife, still having a residual glow from when the stag had been alive. She lobbed it off of the creature's skull, admiring its beauty before placing it in a bag, making a mental note to give it to her sister, Crysanthemum, the next time she was in Dalaran. Her sister was still a proficient blacksmith, and could make great use of it. Tossing a chunk of raw thigh meat to her raptor, whom consumed it happily and noisily, she set to work on digging a small hold to bury the unusable remains. She'd gained quite a bit from just the one kill, and wouldn't need to hunt for food again for some time, though selling the skins was worth hunting more.

Blowing a strand of green hair from her face, she gazed up at the sky and sighed, seeing how close it was to the midnight hour. Despite this, dark, ominous clouds had gathered, and there was not a star in the sky to gaze upon. Disappointed, she turned to her task at hand, smoothing over the patch of disturbed earth with her leather bound hand, and making a series of clicking noises to her pet, who nearly galloped towards her in excitement.

"Easy, Kyrie." She said, rubbing the raptor between the eyes fondly. "We best move on now. There's plenty of nightmare outbreaks to weed out." Her raptor dithered excitedly and she smiled, strapping her weapon again to her back.

Traveling through Valsharah was one of Xaedrienne's favorite things to do in the Broken Isles. The lull was present, which she felt preceded the storm, and many champions of all different classes, specializations and training were taking a much needed break from the almost constant barrage that the Legion had converged upon, up until the most recent weeks. Xaedrienne herself had spent much of her time hunting game, trading and selling, as well as working on her leatherworking, which she had been slacking on ever since before Draenor.

Moving into nightmare territory was immediately evident of the amount of corruption that had taken root. Many creatures that were infected, once docile, spritely things, were now hateful and dark, charging and casting for the kill, oblivious to those who were once allies to them. It had saddened Xaedrienne greatly when she had spoken with Malfurian and he had told her of the degree to which the Nightmare had truly taken root. The nightmare consumed, and left nothing untouched where it had spread, and its influence was final. There was no recovery. Just death.

Pulling her hood over her head, and adjusting the dragon skull atop it shielding her face, she stalked slowly into the darkness, the chittering and pealing of sounds resounding about the trees and bouncing in every direction. Kyrie seemed especially skittish, her talons ripping into the earth noisily, her eyes bouncing between Xaedrienne and the clearly moving shadows.

"Ch-ch-kah." Xaedrienned muttered, the command simple. Kyrie seemed to recoil smaller for a moment, before pouncing onto a corrupted dryad that had been observing them from behind a large tree. The nightmare-infected dryad screeched, immediately drawing the attention of several sentient plants, and a Cenarius look-alike with infected red veins pusling around his torso. Xaedrienne cursed beneath her breath, spinning around quickly, effectively slicing off the dryad's head, ending her foul call for assistance. Enraged, the plants sent their vines to coil around Kyrie's legs, causing the raptor to become imbalanced. Xaedrienne grit her teeth and struck the vines, shredding through them and slicing the plants apart, freeing her raptor. The corrupted grove-keeper growled, stomping his hooves and striking at her with his extended talons. Xaedrienne dodged carefully, making more commands to her raptor, who roared and charged, biting into the flesh of the corruptor, earning a pained yowl from the creature. Xaedrienne jabbed Talonclaw into the belly of the beast, causing it to fall to the ground, gurgling sickly. Xaedrienne backed a few steps away, breathing heavily, adrenaline pumping through her veins.

She whistled two short tones, and Kyrie came limping back, her teeth bloodied and bared angrily. Xaedrienne plopped down, pulling out her bandages, dousing them in salve, and slapping them over the raptors torn flesh. The creature hummed in approval and nuzzled her snout into Xaedrienne's ear. Xaedrienne sighed, pulling out a small fried mackeral strip and chewing on it thoughtfully. Observing things in the dark was almost second nature, but she hadn't seen the grove keeper, and that concerned her. It was always possible more dangerous things lurked behind the innocent looking foliage, and no matter how much she culled, there would ever be more.

Standing, Xaedrienne brushed off her mail greaves, clasped her pack back to her back, and began creeping through the deeper brush, listening intently for sounds of corruption.

Instead, she heard the sounds of clinking metal, slicing through lush plantlife, and low grunting accompanied by low curses warped by a metal helm. Curious, and slightly apprehensive, Xaedrienne stealthily made her way through the dense foliage, peering into a clearing where she beheld a strange sight.

Blood red light filtered through the corrupted trees from the bits of moon that were visable, illuminating a man fighting an onslaught of nightmarish creatures. Treants. Grove-keepers. Dryads. Imps. You name it, the man was holding his own, his twin blades slicing and twirling as they sliced through the creature's like butter. Xaedrienne stood in awe, amazed that a goblin could take on so many creatures at once, his muscles visable even beneath the thick plated armor he donned. Xaedrienne stepped forward unconsciously, amazed at the finesse with which the man moved. As his blades made full circle, and the last creature fell, and, breathing heavily, the goblin stood straight, and Xaedrienne realized how tall he actually was. He had at least a head on her, and she wasn't a short goblin by any means. A small area of his skin was exposed, which Xaedrienne noted was a dark green shade, almost the color of dark pine.

The goblin sheathed his blades, unclipping his helm and pulling it off his head with a huff, sending a shocked gasp to Xaedrienne's throat. She walked out from her hiding spot, her face flushed and her eyes wide. The goblin turned to her, his burgundy eyes observing her curiously. She hesitated, unsure of what to do.

"…Hector?" She said, her eyes wary, holding her hand out to wave off her raptor. "That you?"

The goblin looked startled, but controlled his expression, narrowing his eyes.

Xaedrienne remembered that she was wearing her helm, and scrambled to remove it, scrambling her hair and making her seem even more wild and untamed, but she didn't care. She could see him clearer now, without the hood imparing some of her vision. Hector's eyes widened and a smile found its way on to his serious visage. He bounded over, his blades dragging against the ground, and came up close to Xaedrienne, his eyes lighting up.

"Xaedrienne!" He said, his deep voice washing over the goblin in question. "What a pleasant surprise to see you out here!" Xaedrienne giggled, her face darkening.

"I just happened to be hunting in the area." She offered, shyly grating her foot along the dirt. "I was impressed by your finesse." Hector beamed, his chest puffing out ever so slightly.

"You don't say." He said slyly. Xaedrienne rolled her eyes, but smiled none the less. "It has been quite some time since we last…" He paused, thinking. "It's been at least a couple years. How have you been?" Xaedrienne smiled, looking to the east as the sun began to rise.

"I'd love to catch up, if you'd like to go back to Dalaran." She remarked, her voice bright and chipper. "They have some marvelous brews just waiting to be drank." Hector nodded, a smirk upon his face, and wrapped his arms around the little hunter, earning a surprised yelp.

"I missed ya Xae." Hector said, squeezing her tightly. "I intend to make up for a lot of lost time." Xae blushed, but embraced him back, excited for the chance to start again.

...

Woo. That was a doozy. Xae's story was extremely hard to write, which is strange, because she's one of the first OC's that I actually formulated a personality for. But over time, I fell in love with plenty of other characters, and I just fell off a little on Xae. But, here is her and Hector Dos's story. Well, some of it anyway. Anyone who has read the "Heroes rise and Fall" story have already seen Dos and Xae have a little sum'sum going on. At any rate, I hope you enjoy! Xaedrienne is a survival hunter, and Dos is a Fury warrior. Both goblins.


	15. Choice

Choice

...

Crysanthemum stuffed her pauldrons, handmade by one of her Draenei blacksmith friends, gleaming white and purple gem-encrusted, into her bag, shutting the top and stringing it shut. It was time. She'd completed the first phase of her training, knew the basics, knew some of the complicated spells as well, and now it was time to go to the division training. This was when she'd discover where she belonged, where she would be placed. Where the Argent Dawn would need her. It made her toes tingle in excitement.

"All packed?" Crysanthemum turned her green eyes to look at her friend, Dessicus, with whom she'd become close after such a long time.

She thought back to the first time she'd met Dessicus. His dark red hair gently flowing around his face as the wind brushed against it. How his eyes scanned the whole of Everlook, unsure of what to make of the small town and the people in it. Mostly goblins, she was sure he remembered. She remembered how each of the emmissaries had announced their specialiazations, boasting of quality training, a chance to adventure, to fight in great wars. But not him. He'd turned his glowing green eyes to her, almost as if he'd known she'd been watching. He smiled, gently, his face hardened with years of experience, and yet it was kind. She'd walked up to him, unable to contain the smile on her face.

"Yes." She replied, hitching the bag over her shoulder and turning to face him. He was watching her carefully. She tilted her head.

"What?" She asked. He shook his head, a soft smile on his lips.

"It's nothing."

She nodded her head, and walked up to his side, gesturing for him to follow her as she left down the hall. They walked in companionable silence, his gaze forward, while hers shifted from in front of her to him, trying to decipher the look he was trying to keep off his face. She decided it was best not to ask, and tried valiantly to keep her attention elsewhere, specifically before her.

They exited the building and came into the fresh air, the sun high in the sky and the clouds wispy and thin. Crysanthemum lifted her hand to shield her eyes, gazing up at the bright blue sky.

"Are you ready to make the journey? You have everything you need?" Crysanthemum jolted from her reverie, looking to Dessicus in puzzlement. His face was still off, as if he wanted to say something, but couldn't figure out how to express it. She shook off the thought, smiling at him as genuinely as she could muster, suddenly feeling a strange churning in her stomach.

"As ready as I'll ever be, for the next phase of training, you know?" She said, suddenly feeling nervous. Why? Why did he look at her so intensely?

"It's a big step." He said, his smile not quite reaching his eyes. "Once it's complete you'll be assigned to a unit, somewhere where your talents will be of great use."

"I-yes, that's what I'm hoping for." He was _still_ staring at her that way. His lips flattened out into a straight line, and she felt a strange compelling feeling to reach up, impossible at her height, really, and wipe away the impending frown. Odd.

"I wouldn't worry, if I were you." Dessicus said, his voice soft. "Tirion Fordring will undoubtedly take a shine to you."

Crysanthemum chuckled and looked to the ground, embarassed.

"I somehow don't believe that's how it works." She said flippantly. "I'm a goblin. He'll probably think I'm there to barter and trade."

"I don't think anyone could miss the aura you present, Crysanthemum." Dessicus said, his eyes intense again. She looked away, surprised, and saw that the cart to take her to her next destination had arrived. The coach-man didn't look impatient, but she knew from watching others that he wouldn't wait forever. She couldn't wait long, saying goodbyes had never really been her forte. She nearly winced when she thought of her impromptu exit from Everlook. She didn't want to look at Dessicus. She felt like it would stop her. She didn't know why. She couldn't think of it. It just didn't seem to come to her mind.

"I know you'll do great." He continued. "Perhaps I'll see you again... someday, you know?" He said, smirking crookidly at her, using her favorite phrasing. At this, she turned to look him full in the face. Disarmed by the vulnerability showed there, she suddenly felt frozen. She opened her mouth, then closed it promptly.

"I have to go." She said in a small voice, unable to think in that moment. "I'll see you, Dess!" She hitched up her bag, and quickly bolted for the coach, whose wheels had just begun to move. She threw her bag inside and heaved herself over the window and into the cabin. She shuddered to herself as she forced a smile to her face, waving at Dessicus as she rode off into the distance, until all she could see was the image of his pained face under her eyelids.

They all had to make choices sometimes.

...

I know I haven't added a story to this one in a while, so here's a little tidbit from Crysanthemum's past, before she became a fully fledged paladin, before she died and became a death knight. And then there's Dessicus. ;) I hope you enjoyed, hopefully I'll have more to come soon!


	16. Imperfections

Imperfection

...

The tavern was quiet during the day, Xaedrienne noticed. Perhaps most people felt comfortable fighting the Legion in the daytime, where they were less likely to be surprised. Perhaps it was just because that was a normal sleep schedule for many people. She personally preferred the nightime. Being a hunter, the night was a natural aid, a natural form of camoflage. The darkness would envelop her, allow her to mask herself amongst the foliage, the landscape, to hunt her prey. Her raptors preferred the night as well, their natural instincts kicking in.

She sat across from Hector Dos, and she tried valiantly not to stare. She hadn't seen the man in some time. She was sure it had been six years... seven? Long enough that she'd almost forgotten how angular his face was. He had some new scars, Further proof of his exploits as a warrior, something other Goblins didn't always care for. She didn't mind. It showed in his posture. He was a proud goblin. He'd _earned_ those scars. It gave her a sensation she could only describe as warm when she thought of how his armor did little to hide the rolling muscle that made up his arms and chest.

Hector wasn't staring at her like she was at him, which she was thankful for. But when he did look at her, it was with more intesnity then she could bear. Like being scrutinized for any imperfections on a diamond. He was a jewelcrafter in his spare time, and she felt a lot like the precious gems he scanned for cloudiness and scratching. The face he gave her wasn't condescending. But she almost likened it to pity, and she was almost sure that was worse.

"You're thinking too hard." He said. Xaedrienne shook her head slightly, and she tilted her head in mock confusion. She knew he could see _what_ she was thinking about. She wasn't exactly known for keeping her feelings off her face. Now his expression was neutral. She felt her earlier trepidation disappear.

"Not hard enough I'd say." She replied, trying to be amicable. "But, I'm boring you, aren't I?" She asked. This time he shook his head.

"Not at all. You know, I've never been accused of being easily bored before."

"I wasn't accusing you." Xaedrienne said defensively. Hector chuckled.

"I didn't say you were." He pointed out. She pouted, and he smiled, his sharp teeth gleaming in the dim light.

"Alright." Xaedrienne allowed, leaning forward on her elbows slightly. "Then what _were_ you saying?"

"It's been a long time, Xae." He told her. "You look like you've been doing well for yourself." She smiled at him, her green eyes twinkling.

"I could say the same about you." She said. "But I thank you for the compliment all the same."

"I mean it though." He said, appraising her in a way that made her self concious. "You look well. Strong but... well, you're still a knockout Xae, I'm not gonna lie." Xaedrienne blushed and turned her eyes away, scratching at the long since healed scar absentmindedly.

"I... erm... thanks." She said in a small voice. He reached out and clasped the hand that she was using to scratch at her scar. He held in tightly, and she turned her wide eyes to him in shock.

"I know what you're thinking, Xae." He said, capturing her gaze in his own. "But this isn't like that. I'm not looking for things to critique you on. I'm not looking for your imperfections." She couldn't speak, her mind in a million places at once. The scar practically disfigured her, it crossed from cheek to cheek, setting her nose slightly crooked and puckering the skin at the top of her cheeks. And yet...

"I have quite a few of my own scars, you can see 'em." Hector said, staring at her happily. "Scars do nothing but show your strength. They're not ugly, like I'm sure people have told ya before." She nodded, her eyes turned down to the table.

"I only have one regret for my scars Xae, and these are words you can live by." He said, smiling at her when she looked up cautiously. "That I don't have more to scare away the baddies." Xaedrienne laughed and leaned in closer to Hector.

"Well then, I guess we'll just have to combine ours together, won't we?"

...

Little XaexHector love! Hector Dos is a goblin Warrior from Everlook, and Xaedrienne Hexknot, also hailing from Everlook, also a goblin. Enjoy! More to come soon!


	17. Blossom

Chance

...

Alstromerea was definitely lost.

She sighed and pulled a crude compass from her pack, smacking it a few times in an attempt to force it to work the way it was meant to. But alas, the thing was broken, it seemed. That, or Zandalar was a lot more magnetic than she'd thought to give it credit. As it were, she wasn't looking forward to hacking through miles of jungle with nothing but a broken compass and her Staff, trying to navigate her way _back_ to the camp she'd just left.

She knew she should have taken Azra and Kayzeri up on their offer to go with her, they needed to traverse across as well, but they were taking the longer, well beaten path, considering their little one they were toting about, and she felt awkwardly along the lines of a third wheel by traveling with the happy family. As lovely as she'd thought it was, she'd declined, and now she was paying the price for her discomfort.

Zandalar wasn't much different from some of the jungles she'd visited before. Zangarmarsh. Tanaan. Just as lush and full of creatures she'd rather not get too close too. The bottom of her dress would permanently be the color of putrid mud, and she was trying hard to resist using a levitating spell on herself, lest she draw even more attention to herself in the swampy jungle. She was already culminating the draw of the light, as many had told her before, and there were plenty of enemies to be had in the area. Some of the Zandalari trolls they'd come across before had warned her small war-camp about the Blood trolls. She wasn't keen on dealing with that. Her specialty was in healing. Not in fighting off blood-thirsty trolls.

"Why do I do this to myself." She whispered to herself, taking another glance around the dense foliage. She still had no idea where she was, and had no idea how far she'd have to go to get to the new Horde capitol. She could be traveling around for days for all she knew. She sighed. So much for that.

A rustle from the east caused her to pause in her musings, tensing as she tried to see through the lack of light. The rustling stopped, and she sighed. She was being paranoid. It was probably just a small animal, or the wind. She really had to stop reading those strange novels she'd gotten off that peddler in Duskwood.

She trudged through the muck again, taking care to be more careful of how much noise she made, and stopped when she heard the lurch of a tree limb above her head. Slowly, infintessimaly, she raised her eyes above her. There, perched precariously, was a strange pale troll, with deep burgandy extremeties, as if they'd been dyed with blood.

Just fantastic.

She shifted the staff from her back and channeled the light through it, pulsing out a shield just in time to ricochet the arrow before it hit her in the shoulder. The troll growled and swung down from the limb, landing lithely into the mud. She was three times Alstromerea's height, not suprising, considering the little priest was a goblin, but it made it even more intimidating to see. She wore a large blood painted skull with strange tokens and totems hanging off of it, her clothing sparce and meant for ease of movement. The troll tilted her head and chuckled darkly, speaking at Alstromerea in a language with which she was only slightly familiar. Her parents had taken the time to educate her in many a dialect, insisting that business was the crux of all life. Being able to barter and trade with all races was essential, and thus, knowing the lingo, also essential. She scrunched her nose.

"Li'tum noma tii." She said slowly, backing up. The troll seemed surprised that she had understood what she'd said. "Ut'an dhaki tendabir. Todasta-"

"Nictum Ana'bah!" The troll cried out, pulling a long sword from her side. Alstromerea paused. The troll had told her to halt her retreat. She jabbed the sword in her direction, and Alstromera heard more rustling. To her horror, more blood trolls shifted from the shadows and the plants, until she was completely surrounded.

"Haba ti! Nictum Ana'te!" Alstromerea gritted her teeth. This was not going to end well. She could sense it. These trolls intended to capture her. For what, she could only imagine. Sacrifice probably. Just perfect. She closed her eyes, channeling the light as slowly as she could into her staff. She could summon a holy nova, but she wasn't a fast runner. The muck would no doubt slow her down as well. If they were desperate enough, they'd easily be able to capture her.

One of the male trolls reached forward and grabbed her arm. She hissed at him and swung her staff, causing him to back up and pull out his staff. Suddenly, all of the trolls were armed and had her surrounded. She groaned and lifted up her staff defensively.

"Ju betta not try anymo o' dat, leetle gobby." The female troll from before said, her orcish terribly rudimentary. "We be not so patient. Lowa ya staff to da groun'." Alstromerea clutched her staff harder, her knuckles nearly yellow with the effort. A couple of the trolls laughed and drew slightly closer.

"It be in ya bes' interes' ta leave da priestess be, Coria." Came a voice from above them. Alstromerea looked up to see a male troll with jungle green hair perched above a strong limb, his blue skin tattooed with white tribal symbols, a Zandalar troll, wearing the garbs common for his people. His eyes were a glittering green, and he held two deadly looking daggers, shining with something violet along the edges, which she had a feeling was extremely poisonous.

The female troll growled and gestured for her hunting part to continue advancing on the small goblin, but she kept her eyes on the Zandalari. The newcomer frowned, swinging down right next to Alstromerea, splattering her robes with more muck.

"Ikta Na'tume Nasha!" He said, his teeth grinding against his tusks, which were impressive in size, and looked to be well maintained. "Ti-ada Cantu Ne mintaka Nu!" The other trolls skittered back a few steps but Coria merely growled, twisting her hands around with dark blood magic.

Alstromerea didn't need any more reason than that to shoot the holy nova forth. It sent the hunting party sprawling back several feet, and looking dazed as they were repelled from the small goblin. Coria was interrupted completely, and growled in frustration as she too was sent back. The newcomer troll grinned, turning to her.

"Fiesty, you be." He said. "I be Navi. We escape now, yes?" She nodded and shrieked in surprise as he lifted her up off her feet, and began to leap across the jungle, seeming unhindered by her weight, and also, she noted, very fast. The other trolls hadn't recovered enough to follow. He kept up the even pace, breathing deeply and ducking between trees quickly as he followed what she could only assume to be an internal compass. She still had _no idea_ where they were. But then, in less time then she could have imagined, she saw the familiar structures of the Horde. Tall spikes. Red dyed leathers and the Horde symbol carved into the wood and metal randomly about. The troll, Navi, set her down and grinned at her, seeming pleased with himself.

"Erm... Thank you." She said in orcish, tilting her head curiously at him. "I wasn't interested in becoming a sacrifice today." Navi threw his head back and laughed. She blinked, and took note that unlike the darkspear, Navi never crouched down into a hunch. His back was perfectly straight. Held up proudly.

"Ya be a strange little one." He said. "But I like ya attitude. Without it, ya may have nota suprise' all of dem so much." Alstromerea was rather taken aback. She looked at him inquisitively.

"What do you mean?" She said. "They seemed pretty unsurprised to me."

"It be ya dialect." He said, his eyes twinkling. "Da trolls here be lackin' on the communication skills. Dey didn't expec' a small goblin, like yaself, ta speak da lingo near fluent."

"It was rudimentary at best." Alstromerea said modestly. She tucked a wavy length of azure hair behind her ear and looked up at him, smiling.

"Ya too 'umble. It was pretty good. I even undastood it." She flashed another smile at him, and he returned it happily.

"What be ya name?" He asked, looking at her curiously. "I can't be forgettin' such a fiesty priestess like yaself." She smiled coyly, turning towards the Horde fortress.

"The name's Alstromerea." She told him. "I owe you one for savin' my neck their Navi. Would you care to join me for a pint or two?" His grin widened and he scooped her up unceremoniously.

"I didn't tink ya'd eva ask."

...

The last time you read about Alstromerea, she was a forsaken. Now, she's a goblin. This actually works out in my favor, as Xotufexo, once a forsaken hunter (and one of my husbands toons on WoW, is now a BE... So yeah. All sorts of fancy stuff. Just pretend that story is something else entirely. This is the new canon for me. Thanks for reading ya'll! 3


	18. Chance

Birth

...

Kayzeri was comfortable, but uncomfortable all at once. Her momma had told her this was common. Pregnancy did that to you. She shifted on the bed, her large belly moving with her. Larger than the average goblin pregnancy. _Longer_ than the average goblin pregnancy. Her physician, a cranky old goblin shaman called Wix, told her four months was the average for a goblin woman. But Draenei women carried _their_ young for 11 months. Almost a whole year. As such, Wix had estimated she would go over by at least two, maybe three months for a whopping total of six or seven. By doctor's orders, she was to be bedridden for the last two months of her pregnancy. It had been a very, very, _long_ two months.

"I brought you some aethril tea." Molniia said, setting a steaming cup next to Kayzeri on the bedside table. The tea smelled sweet, but she knew from experience the smell didn't help the taste. "It will help with the back-ache." Kayzeri smiled at the draenei woman, her husband's sister. She and Azra had taken up residence in neutral territory nearest the Maelstrom for ease of access, especially with all the Legion activity. Molniia, ever helpful, and also a shaman, joined them there to assist when Kayzeri found out she was expecting. Molniia, it turned out, was very familiar with all facets of pregnancy, despite never having undergone one herself. She had assisted in the birth of almost one hundred draenei children, and had told Kayzeri she'd delivered others during her time in neutral territories when medics were in short supply.

Kayzeri found that Azra's joy at their child's perceived birth impacted his general attitude towards, well, everything. He would often try to convince her to relax often, not take so many trips out to Dalaran, and practically bit his nails every time she cast a healing spell. Molniia scolded him often, caringly reminding him that Kayzeri was just pregnant. Not an invalid.

The goblin in question sipped her tea, grimacing at the bitter taste. Molniia smiled sympathetically.

"I know it tastes terrible. But it will help." She insisted, fluffing up the crane down pillow beneath Kayzeri's head. "And you need to be getting up and moving around. It will help when the contractions start."

"I feel like a yak."

"You are glowing like a sun." Molniia chastised her, smiling in amusement. "The little one is due any day. Walking will help."

"Walking feels like an impossibility." Kayzeri grumbled, sitting up and downing the rest of the tea, trying not to make a face. Molniia smiled and held out her arms to help Kayzeri hop out of bed. Her teal hair bobbed as her feet hit the ground, and she grimaced as she felt her stomach swoon.

"Nauseous?" Molniia asked, straightening out.

"Not enough to be concerned about." Kayzeri said. "It feels good to be back on my feet."

"Don't get too used to it." A crinkly voice called from the next room. Kayzeri wrinkled her nose and looked over to see Wix stumbling in, his bag old and leathery with age. "Do you know how many weeks you're at, Kayzeri?"

"Er...twenty four... maybe twenty five?"

"That's what I figured." He said in his thick accent. "Molniia here tells me that you're at twenty five and two days. If that's true, I think it's safe to say we ought to verify your measurements and make a decision."

"A decision?" Kayzeri asked, suddenly feeling more nauseous. "About what?"

"Whether or not to let it go on naturally, or well... Do this the hard way." He said, gesturing to her belly. "Azra won't like it, but If we go too long, you'll hurt yaself tryin' to do it the natural way."

"What am I supposed to be at?" Kayzeri asked curiously, as Wix pulled out a tape measurer. He wrapped it around her belly along the largest curve, scrutinizing the scrawled letters on the fabric.

"Goblin's usually get to a girth of around 24 picknut lengths when they're ready to pop." He said, holding the fabric steady for a second measurement. "I've heard humans get to around 40, can you believe it?"

"What is she at?" Molniia asked curiously. Wix rubbed his eyes tiredly, and dropped the fabric into his bag.

"She's at 25." He said. "I would say any day now you could be expectin' a hopefully healthy screamin' newborn." He looked uncomfortable for a moment.

"If her water doesn't break in the next forty-eight hours though, I'm gonna come back. I'd prepare Azra for... well... I'll let you do the explainin' if you don't mind." He tipped his hat to Kayzeri and made his hasty escape. Kayzeri turned to Molniia.

"Alright, what was he talkin' about?" She asked, putting her hands on her hips, swaying slightly.

"He's saying if you don't go into natural labor soon, you risk... tearing."

Kayzeri cringed a bit at the word, and found it an unappealing thought altogether.

"And?" She asked.

"He was suggesting they do a minor cut to pull the baby out that way instead. Assuming you don't have the child naturally." Kayzeri blinked.

" _Cut_ it out?" She squeaked. Molniia nodded solemnly.

"I've seen human physician's do it many times, if a woman's birth canal is too small." Molniia offered. "I've even assisted during one. Having a dedicated healer makes the process seamless. Though it is hard to accept being voluntarily sliced open."

"Do you think I won't be able to?" Kayzeri asked. Molniia shook her head.

"I think you can do whatever you set your mind to. But it never hurts to be prepared for the worst." Kayzeri nodded and yawned, suddenly tired. Molniia ushered her back into the bed and blew out the lanterns, allowing her to get some rest.

Azra returned home late that evening, looking slightly worse for the wear, but in one piece. He began unclipping his armor, allowing the day to roll off of his skin like his armor did. He sighed and sat on a carved bench, allowing himself to decompress. Molniia peeked her head around and looked at her brother thoughtfully. She then came around the corner and sat on the bench next to him.

"Hard day?" She asked, setting a hand gently on his shoulder.

"Yes. An outcrop invasion in Azuna today. They're getting desperate." He said softly, running a hand through his ebony hair. "I'm glad that Kayzeri has been on bedrest. It's too much to see all this that is going on in the Broken Isles."

"You're doing hard work, Azra." Molniia said sympathetically. "And so is 'Zeri. She is past her measurement, brother." Azra looked up at his sister, uncomprehending for a moment.

"Is she okay?" He asked, half standing up. Molniia pushed down on his shoulder and rolled her eyes.

"She is fine. Wants to walk around. But she's following Wix's orders."

"He came by today?"

"Measured her at twenty-five. She has to go into labor soon."

"I hope she'll be alright." He said, standing and beginning to pace, his hooves making a soft rhythmic sound on the floor. "I know she's been resting plenty, but this isn't a normal pregnancy, I mean, I don't think there's anything out there _like_ us-" Molniia stopped her brother's pacing and sent a meaningful glance his well.

"Don't worry brother, be joyous. You are going to have a child." She said. "Have some faith, will you?" Azra sighed.

"I am joyous." He muttered underneath his breath. Molniia smiled and stifled a chuckle. They sat in companionable silence for a moment when they heard a soft groan from Kayzeri and Azra's room. Molniia swiftly moved to the room, shoving away the leather curtain. Azra wisely waited outside for permission to come in, not wanting to mess with his sister while she worked. She was known to snap at people getting in her way.

Molniia reached Kayzeri's side. The goblin was panting slightly, her face screwed up in concentration.

"Are you alright?" Molniia asked.

"Yes, but I think it's time." Kayzeri admitted, shifting her hips slightly. "I can feel a hard pressure. I want to push."

"Do you want me to let Azra in?"

"Yes please-" She groaned out. Molniia turned to call to Azra, but he was already edging into the room, looking slightly sheepish, but mostly worried. She gestured for him to come over, and he nearly sprinted, immediately kneeling at his wife's side and taking her hand.

"Azra... We're going to have a baby." She said, smiling at him happily. He smiled back, gripping her hand carefully.

"I'm so proud of you Kayzeri, just keep breathing dear." Kayzeri panted and screwed up her face in concentration.

"She's open all the way, Azra." Molniia said, placing a towel underneath Kayzeri's backside. "I need you to coach her through pushing. She has to keep up her strength until the child completely leaves the body." Azra nodded, seeming nervous, but took a deep breath and looked into his wife's eyes. She scrunched her face and grunted, pushing hard and then taking deep breaths. It seemed like hours, but mere minutes later, a tiny scream was heard, as a child was born. Kayzeri breathed in gulps of air, trying to steady herself. Molniia quickly wiped down the child with a cloth and brought it to the new parents, beaming with joy.

"It's a girl." She said, placing the tiny child into Kayzeri's arms. The baby was a beautiful light teal green, not unlike the shallow sea. Her hair was a dark sea green, and already in tufts it rose around two nubs that would someday grow into horns. Her ears were not sharp and lean like her fathers, but folded and wide like her mothers. Kayzeri laughed breathlessly, gazing at her daughters face in awe.

"She's so beautiful." Kayzeri said, turning to Azra. He looked at her in amazement, touching the newborn's skin so softly it was if he weren't touching her at all.

"I couldn't agree more." He said, his voice reverent. Molniia smiled and slipped away, allowing the parents the privacy of the joy and awe that accompanied a new birth.

...

Sorry if this one got a little too graphic for you guys, I tried to stay away from too much in that end. But I wanted to write about Kayzeri and Azra, they're one of my favorite WoW OC couples. (I have so many favorites, it's so unfair!) :) Enjoy!


	19. Magnetism

Magnetism

...

"Could you put that case over there? It won't be in the way if we keep it over there." Molniia said, rubbing her forhead as she directed yet another overly-eager helper to shift around the necessities they'd recovered from Argus. So far, there hadn't been much. She'd yet to run into any survivors from the wreckage of the massive light bound ship that had crashed when shot out of the sky by the Legion, but she was sure she would soon, and having things taken care of prior to that would be invaluable to her, as well as to them. She needed them to assist her about Argus, and making of them allies, she needed to make sure they had everything they needed from _her_ side first.

"Anything else you need?" The human woman asked, swiping her hands across her robe and looking at the draenei shaman expectantly.

"No, that should be fine. I'm about to leave anyway." Molniia said, smiling meekly back. She hastily backtracked to where Velen was standing, staring out at Argus as if he could hardly believe what he was seeing. Molniia put a hand on his shoulder.

"I know it's hard to see it like this, Prophet." Molniia said solemnly. "But this will be where it ends. The Legion won't be tainting good air for much longer."

"I expect that will be so, what with all of your efforts, and those of all of Azeroth." He said, turning and lifting an eyebrow at the myriad of heroes gathered in the hallowed halls of the ship that had taken them to Argus. She was only one of many who were there to end what the Legion had attempted to start. She recognized more than a few faces, a Worgen death knight she'd met toting around the putrid weapon Apocolypse, a dwarf shaman with a strong elemental fist weapon and shield that seemed to glow with the very element's themselves. There were some she'd never seen, but knew by reputation. A goblin Death Knight with weapons that nearly froze her soul just looking at them. A Forsaken shadow priest that seemed to be muttering to his dagger as if it were telling him a bad joke. Their motley crew of strengthened soldiers were dragging the Legion into the mud, one planet at a time, it seemed.

"Indeed, we would almost seem... overwhelming, were it not the Legion we faced."

"Overwhelming is much needed now." Velen replied, turning his attention back to the skies of Argus. "Our friends need our help. You'll need to teleport down to the surface, scout out the wreckage of our Allies of the Light."

"Do you think they survived?" Molniia asked in a hushed tone. Velen didn't reply, his face heavily scrutinzing the smokey area where the ship had crashed.

"I most certainly hope they did." He said gravely. "We will need all of the help we can get."

Molniia nodded, and turned her attention to the transporter that had led her to the ship in the first place. Stepping on the pad and nodding to the engineer, she felt her body shift as she teleported from the ship to the ground. The fighting had begun long before she'd touched down on the grated plateau, the sickened earth and mutated vegetation just a few of the signs of the Legion's fel corruption. She looked out to see that her allies had stepped off the teleporter as well, and were now moving quickly to assist in the fray. She hesitated for only a moment, before channeling her fury, pleading for the element's wrath to join, as she clutched the Doomhammer and it's sister mace, slamming into the nearest Felguard with a fury like no other.

The first staging area was cleared pretty quickly, and the groups began to split off in favor of securing different areas, hoping to quickly gain ground and make it to the downed Army of the Light. She felt a strange draw to head straight for the mothership, and tagged along with the seemingly insane Forsaken priest and a Blood Elf death Knight that she didn't recognize. Their path was rather quiet, only coming across a few felhounds, before reaching a giant chasm that spanned almost half the width of the expansive plateau. Inside the bubbling surface were spans of demons, all fighting with Draenei. Not broken. _Draenei_.

And not just any Draenei, she observed. They were touched by the light. It was impossible to deny it. Their skin, almost white, as if someone had lit a fire beneath their skin. Their hair was just as fair, some white, or pale grey, or pale ash blonde. They all bore armor likened to the image of a Naaru, and many of them bore shields, swords, or staves that seemed to emanate in the very essense of the Light. Their horns were longer, more elegant and defined. Their eyes shone like the sun. They seemed eons old, and yet, they were compelling. Watching them was almost fixation.

Realizing she was standing around not doing anything, Molniia pulled Doomhammer from her belt and roared a racous war-cry, turning the heads of some of the Demons, but not breaking the dedicated determined focus of the Warriors of the Light. She slammed the mace into the nearest Felguard, the elemental force crunching into his bones and slamming him back several feet. The female Draenei, a priest by the looks of her armor, nodded her thanks and began to channel a stream of light at the demon, pulverizing what was left of him. That done, Molniia turned her attention to the edge of the Plateau, where a very large demon with a huge mace stood, leering at a small group that was advancing on him, containing three Lightforged Draenei, the female Goblin Death Knight with the Blades of the fallen Prince, and a male blood elf Paladin she vaguely knew, using the Truth Guard.

She quickened her pace to join them, not even bothering to sheath the Doomhammer or the Earth Mother's hammer. As she came closer, she realized the demon stood in front of a few bodies of strong looking broken, a few draenei, their life essences gone, their eyes open in shock.

"Don't tell me you're afraid?" The giant creature said, leering at the group and brandishing his axe against them. "I broke them easily. You will follow as all of your kind were destined to do!" Molniia gritted her teeth, and her eyes seemed to lock on the large male draenei paladin that stood, imposing and luminescent, next to the Blood elf. His long silvery hair was braided and long, and she could see that he was experienced in his stance, his shoulders broad and mace braced in his fists. She had a strange impulse to see his face, but she knew now wasn't the time. This creature had to be destroyed first.

The demon's jeering seemed to steel the resolve of the group, starting with the goblin, who charged wordlessly at the creature, sinking her blades into it's leg and releasing a burst of frost magic that made Molniia reflexively shiver. The demon howled and swung its weapon, but everyone shifted, preparing for the counter-attack. The Blood Elf Paladin threw up his shield, temporarily blinding the creature and giving the Goblin another opening to make her assault. The two female Draenei were already channeling the light to strike the demon, and the male Draenei was swinging his mace against the creature's back. She caught a glimpse of his face, but not enough to identify where she knew him from. She slammed the doomhammer into the demon's chest and summoned a fire elemental to engage him. The male Draenei from before, a long since healed scar marring the left side of his face, came into her field of view. She instantly recognized him, and her mouth fell open.

"Navene?" She choked out. His eyes immediately locked to hers, and she felt her heart almost stutter in her surprise. His eyes, a golden glowing color, trained on her face. He seemed to almost be in disbelief, but he reigned in his expression and swung his mace out just in time to block the demon's weapon as it came crashing down just above his head. Molniia snapped herself out of it quickly, realizing she was causing the focus to leave the group, which would end in destruction. She quickly diverted around, standing next to one of the other draenei, who were ducking to avoid the wide arcing swing of the large mace as the demon spun around in a wide circular motion.

"Die insignificant fools!" He roared, stomping on the ground and kicking everyone back several feet. Molniia skidded back, imbuing the element's fury into her hammers whilst focusing on the demon. He was already slowing down, and one of his massive legs seemed to be suffering from a nasty looking frostbite, which was slowly spreading upwards. The female death knight, eerie blue eyes locked on the splintering wound, sprung forward, slashing her blades across the front of the demon's chest, causing him to roar out in frustration. Her frost magic was already penetrating his body, and he staggered down to one knee, where the two male paladins stood before him, ready to end his life.

"You can't defeat us all." The creature spat out, leering at them. " All of your efforts will have been for nought."

"Your kind has been wrong before." Navene said, and Molniia felt her ears perk up. He raised his mace and, imbuing it with the light, smashed it against his head, watching the body crumble into dust.

The small goblin joined the blood elf and they nodded their thanks to the group before rushing off to engage the next group. The two female lightforged draenei took one look between Navene and Molniia and waved their exit out, going towards the main part of the plateau where Molniia had beamed down to begin with. Molniia and Navene didn't speak, instead just looking to one another, their expressions unreadable.

Molniia was the first to start forward. She walked until she was only a foot or so away from him. She looked him over. His armor aside, she saw that his bulky body had not wasted away with time. If anything, he was more imposing now than he had been when she was younger. Over three hundred years ago. She remembered him differently then. Still tall, but less confident. Less wise. The smile on his face was gone now, no laughter in the lines of his face. He'd seen much, likely seen more than she could ever have imagined. His skin had been bleached by the light. Once a light blue, was now almost as white as the snows of Highmountain. His hair had always been white, but now it was silver, almost like a finely spun necklace. His eyes were the most recognizable. They still held a warmth that she felt in her very soul.

"You look different." She stated, her voice wobbling slightly. He nodded, still not speaking. "I don't know how to explain it. I just... I knew it was you. All this time. I knew." He leaned forward to look at her for a moment, and reached out tentatively to touch her cheek.

"We'd heard of the mothership landing on Azeroth." He admitted softly. "I rejoiced to hear that many of our people survived the crash. But I heard no word of your whereabouts, or whether or not you'd even survived. There seemed to be no word that you had even been on the ship at all."

" I wasn't supposed to be." She said, her eyes flashing angrily at him. "I was supposed to be there- I was supposed to stay with you-"

"I couldn't risk you dying." He argued back, his tone still gentle, despite the adamancy. "You were young, there was so much danger-"

"And you?" She retorted, crossing her arms. "We were supposed to stay together, Navene. You promised me."

"I did. And for that, I apologize." He said, his voice sorrowful. "But I do not regret taking you to the ship. I do not regret that you survived, once I heard of your legacy. It pained me, more than you will ever know, to not be able to immediately come to your side, to be with you, through all of the hard times."

"I would have gone with you and done the same." She said, the hurt showing in her voice. "You knew this, and yet you took me to the ship and sent me away. Do you have any idea how many years I waited to hear of your fate? How many decades I cried because I thought you gone from my life? Navene, this... this shouldn't be the way we reunite. Not on Argus, not under these circumstances."

"But it is the way we have reunited." He said, taking her stubborn hands in his own. She felt the scars that criss-crossed his skin. Her eyes flicked to the scar that crossed his face and she hesitated. "Do not think you were alone. I was always with you, in your heart." He leaned in and kissed her lightly on her lips, pulling away and looking deeply into her eyes.

"Do not hold onto your anger long, Niia." He said. "I'd rather not lose you again."

...

Woo this one was a little forced, but still fun to write. I knew exactly who I wanted to pair Molniia with as soon as patch 7.3 came out, but it's been a long time since I've really written much (Trust me, when you're launching aircraft, your not thinking about writing WoW stuff all the time, only like, 15 % of the time lol) But I'm trying to get back into the groove. I like writing these shorts, they're easier and good off the cuffs. I hope you enjoyed, be on the lookout for more!


	20. Birth

Birth

...

Kayzeri was comfortable, but uncomfortable all at once. Her momma had told her this was common. Pregnancy did that to you. She shifted on the bed, her large belly moving with her. Larger than the average goblin pregnancy. _Longer_ than the average goblin pregnancy. Her physician, a cranky old goblin shaman called Wix, told her four months was the average for a goblin woman. But Draenei women carried _their_ young for 11 months. Almost a whole year. As such, Wix had estimated she would go over by at least two, maybe three months for a whopping total of six or seven. By doctor's orders, she was to be bedridden for the last two months of her pregnancy. It had been a very, very, _long_ two months.

"I brought you some aethril tea." Molniia said, setting a steaming cup next to Kayzeri on the bedside table. The tea smelled sweet, but she knew from experience the smell didn't help the taste. "It will help with the back-ache." Kayzeri smiled at the draenei woman, her husband's sister. She and Azra had taken up residence in neutral territory nearest the Maelstrom for ease of access, especially with all the Legion activity. Molniia, ever helpful, and also a shaman, joined them there to assist when Kayzeri found out she was expecting. Molniia, it turned out, was very familiar with all facets of pregnancy, despite never having undergone one herself. She had assisted in the birth of almost one hundred draenei children, and had told Kayzeri she'd delivered others during her time in neutral territories when medics were in short supply.

Kayzeri found that Azra's joy at their child's perceived birth impacted his general attitude towards, well, everything. He would often try to convince her to relax often, not take so many trips out to Dalaran, and practically bit his nails every time she cast a healing spell. Molniia scolded him often, caringly reminding him that Kayzeri was just pregnant. Not an invalid.

The goblin in question sipped her tea, grimacing at the bitter taste. Molniia smiled sympathetically.

"I know it tastes terrible. But it will help." She insisted, fluffing up the crane down pillow beneath Kayzeri's head. "And you need to be getting up and moving around. It will help when the contractions start."

"I feel like a yak."

"You are glowing like a sun." Molniia chastised her, smiling in amusement. "The little one is due any day. Walking will help."

"Walking feels like an impossibility." Kayzeri grumbled, sitting up and downing the rest of the tea, trying not to make a face. Molniia smiled and held out her arms to help Kayzeri hop out of bed. Her teal hair bobbed as her feet hit the ground, and she grimaced as she felt her stomach swoon.

"Nauseous?" Molniia asked, straightening out.

"Not enough to be concerned about." Kayzeri said. "It feels good to be back on my feet."

"Don't get too used to it." A crinkly voice called from the next room. Kayzeri wrinkled her nose and looked over to see Wix stumbling in, his bag old and leathery with age. "Do you know how many weeks you're at, Kayzeri?"

"Er...twenty four... maybe twenty five?"

"That's what I figured." He said in his thick accent. "Molniia here tells me that you're at twenty five and two days. If that's true, I think it's safe to say we ought to verify your measurements and make a decision."

"A decision?" Kayzeri asked, suddenly feeling more nauseous. "About what?"

"Whether or not to let it go on naturally, or well... Do this the hard way." He said, gesturing to her belly. "Azra won't like it, but If we go too long, you'll hurt yaself tryin' to do it the natural way."

"What am I supposed to be at?" Kayzeri asked curiously, as Wix pulled out a tape measurer. He wrapped it around her belly along the largest curve, scrutinizing the scrawled letters on the fabric.

"Goblin's usually get to a girth of around 24 picknut lengths when they're ready to pop." He said, holding the fabric steady for a second measurement. "I've heard humans get to around 40, can you believe it?"

"What is she at?" Molniia asked curiously. Wix rubbed his eyes tiredly, and dropped the fabric into his bag.

"She's at 25." He said. "I would say any day now you could be expectin' a hopefully healthy screamin' newborn." He looked uncomfortable for a moment.

"If her water doesn't break in the next forty-eight hours though, I'm gonna come back. I'd prepare Azra for... well... I'll let you do the explainin' if you don't mind." He tipped his hat to Kayzeri and made his hasty escape. Kayzeri turned to Molniia.

"Alright, what was he talkin' about?" She asked, putting her hands on her hips, swaying slightly.

"He's saying if you don't go into natural labor soon, you risk... tearing."

Kayzeri cringed a bit at the word, and found it an unappealing thought altogether.

"And?" She asked.

"He was suggesting they do a minor cut to pull the baby out that way instead. Assuming you don't have the child naturally." Kayzeri blinked.

" _Cut_ it out?" She squeaked. Molniia nodded solemnly.

"I've seen human physician's do it many times, if a woman's birth canal is too small." Molniia offered. "I've even assisted during one. Having a dedicated healer makes the process seamless. Though it is hard to accept being voluntarily sliced open."

"Do you think I won't be able to?" Kayzeri asked. Molniia shook her head.

"I think you can do whatever you set your mind to. But it never hurts to be prepared for the worst." Kayzeri nodded and yawned, suddenly tired. Molniia ushered her back into the bed and blew out the lanterns, allowing her to get some rest.

Azra returned home late that evening, looking slightly worse for the wear, but in one piece. He began unclipping his armor, allowing the day to roll off of his skin like his armor did. He sighed and sat on a carved bench, allowing himself to decompress. Molniia peeked her head around and looked at her brother thoughtfully. She then came around the corner and sat on the bench next to him.

"Hard day?" She asked, setting a hand gently on his shoulder.

"Yes. An outcrop invasion in Azuna today. They're getting desperate." He said softly, running a hand through his ebony hair. "I'm glad that Kayzeri has been on bedrest. It's too much to see all this that is going on in the Broken Isles."

"You're doing hard work, Azra." Molniia said sympathetically. "And so is 'Zeri. She is past her measurement, brother." Azra looked up at his sister, uncomprehending for a moment.

"Is she okay?" He asked, half standing up. Molniia pushed down on his shoulder and rolled her eyes.

"She is fine. Wants to walk around. But she's following Wix's orders."

"He came by today?"

"Measured her at twenty-five. She has to go into labor soon."

"I hope she'll be alright." He said, standing and beginning to pace, his hooves making a soft rhythmic sound on the floor. "I know she's been resting plenty, but this isn't a normal pregnancy, I mean, I don't think there's anything out there _like_ us-" Molniia stopped her brother's pacing and sent a meaningful glance his well.

"Don't worry brother, be joyous. You are going to have a child." She said. "Have some faith, will you?" Azra sighed.

"I am joyous." He muttered underneath his breath. Molniia smiled and stifled a chuckle. They sat in companionable silence for a moment when they heard a soft groan from Kayzeri and Azra's room. Molniia swiftly moved to the room, shoving away the leather curtain. Azra wisely waited outside for permission to come in, not wanting to mess with his sister while she worked. She was known to snap at people getting in her way.

Molniia reached Kayzeri's side. The goblin was panting slightly, her face screwed up in concentration.

"Are you alright?" Molniia asked.

"Yes, but I think it's time." Kayzeri admitted, shifting her hips slightly. "I can feel a hard pressure. I want to push."

"Do you want me to let Azra in?"

"Yes please-" She groaned out. Molniia turned to call to Azra, but he was already edging into the room, looking slightly sheepish, but mostly worried. She gestured for him to come over, and he nearly sprinted, immediately kneeling at his wife's side and taking her hand.

"Azra... We're going to have a baby." She said, smiling at him happily. He smiled back, gripping her hand carefully.

"I'm so proud of you Kayzeri, just keep breathing dear." Kayzeri panted and screwed up her face in concentration.

"She's open all the way, Azra." Molniia said, placing a towel underneath Kayzeri's backside. "I need you to coach her through pushing. She has to keep up her strength until the child completely leaves the body." Azra nodded, seeming nervous, but took a deep breath and looked into his wife's eyes. She scrunched her face and grunted, pushing hard and then taking deep breaths. It seemed like hours, but mere minutes later, a tiny scream was heard, as a child was born. Kayzeri breathed in gulps of air, trying to steady herself. Molniia quickly wiped down the child with a cloth and brought it to the new parents, beaming with joy.

"It's a girl." She said, placing the tiny child into Kayzeri's arms. The baby was a beautiful light teal green, not unlike the shallow sea. Her hair was a dark sea green, and already in tufts it rose around two nubs that would someday grow into horns. Her ears were not sharp and lean like her fathers, but folded and wide like her mothers. Kayzeri laughed breathlessly, gazing at her daughters face in awe.

"She's so beautiful." Kayzeri said, turning to Azra. He looked at her in amazement, touching the newborn's skin so softly it was if he weren't touching her at all.

"I couldn't agree more." He said, his voice reverent. Molniia smiled and slipped away, allowing the parents the privacy of the joy and awe that accompanied a new birth.

...

Sorry if this one got a little too graphic for you guys, I tried to stay away from too much in that end. But I wanted to write about Kayzeri and Azra, they're one of my favorite WoW OC couples. (I have so many favorites, it's so unfair!) :) Enjoy!


	21. Turbulence

Moments: Turbulance

...

I trust you all remember Alstromerea and Navvi? Well, we're gonna expand on them a little bit, while also adding her sister and his brother to the mix… what could go wrong?

...

The humid rains of Nazmir were unforgiving as Alstromerea trudged through the muck and sludgy water to reach the Flight Master in Gloom's Hollow. Her sister, Cryzanth, was slung over her shoulders, head bleeding, eyes half-lidded and rolling.

"Stay awake, Cryzanth." Alstromerea snapped, hitching her sister's body up again, ignoring the protest of her muscles as they shook against her stubbornness. She had to at least make it to the flight master. Anything that happened after that was truly left up to chance. She just hoped Navvi was where he said he'd be when she and her sister arrived in Dazar'Alor. Gloom's Hollow came into view and Alstromerea nearly burst into tears of relief at the sight of a large, intimidating looking pterrodax perched near one of the Zandalari guards.

"Dazar'Alor." Alstromerea said, using her free hand to rummage in her satchel for some silver. "As fast as he can take me and my sister." The Flight Master looked at her, his beady eyes focusing on the small goblin and her sister, before stopping at the bleeding that didn't seem to want to stop on her head.

"She be poisoned?" He asked as he took the amount from her hand and tightened the saddle on his Pterrodax.

"Yes. I have a friend whose brother is an herbalist. I need to take her to them as soon as possible." He nodded, helping to settle the injured goblin onto the saddle first, before helping her to gain a foot hold as well.

" _Man'alah!_ " He said, tapping the creature's beak. "Be gone, to Dazar!" The takeoff was jarring as the creature spread its wings and flapped them quickly, shooting them into the sky and veering off South towards the Zandalari city of gold. Alstromerea tightened the grip on her sister's body, watching her nervously as she shifted with the movement of the flying reptile, her eyes now closed and face slack.

She'd tried healing her sister, of course. Whatever had infected her sister's body, it was merely absorbing the healing effects of her spells, leaving the blood to continue to flow and her sister's skin to become paler and paler. Alstromerea was an alchemist, but had no potions, and knew little about the herbs native to this continent in terms of creating any kind of clotting agent, or antidote for whatever had caused her sister's wound in the first place.

 _The rain pelted Alstromerea's back as she walked along the edges of the swampy mire, avoiding the crocolisks and saurid's biting at carcasses imbedded in the muck, ravenously searching for the source of their next meal. She hadn't seen her sister in at least three days, and based off the scout's reports, she'd been spotted last in Nazmir, assisting a few Zandalari guards and Orc ambassadors with clearing out Blood Troll encampments in Northern Nazmir. Since the Horde had taken up arms to attempt to gain the trust of the Sea-faring trolls, many of Azeroth and the Horde's finest had made it a point to go through Nazmir, where it seemed a majority of the threat was looming._

 _Brushing her hand across her forehead where beads of sweat were beginning to formulate, she focused her gaze ahead of her, squinting to try to get a better look at what lie ahead of her. She squinted harder when something glinting caught her eye, surprising to see considering the sun was nearly completely shielded by heavy dark clouds. Curious, she drew closer, her body tensed and guarded as she approached the glinting object. She gasped in horror when she came close enough to identify the chipped metal spikes of an Orgrimmar grunt's armor. What was left of the Orc was hardly recognizable, and without even checking his neck, Alstromerea knew he was dead. She scanned the area in horror as a picture of gore came to life before her eyes. Panic began to settle in her belly, as she considered that_ this _might be the same group her sister had been traveling in, when she spotted a tuft of dirty tan fur covering a distinctly green arm._

 _The little priest ran as fast as she could, praying to the Light that her sister still lived, and quickly turned her sister onto her back, and nearly cried out in relief to see the shaman was still breathing, albeit shallowly. She pressed her hands gently to her chest, willing the light into her very veins, healing the broken tissue, caressing the broken bones, before-_

 _It disappeared. As if sucked into a void, something endless and hungry, her healing was struck from her fingers and lost in her sister's body, not to be used to help the goblin heal._

 _"No…. no!" Alstromerea tried again, but the same sensation, of her healing being pulled into a void before disappearing completely repeated, and she was left shaking as she watched the blood pool beneath her sister's head._

The Pterrodax jolted a bit as it hit a wind current over Dazar'Alor, and pulled her from her memories. She ran two fingers over her sister's neck, feeling for a pulse, willing the Pterrodax to move quicker.

Not soon enough, the creature landed, nearly shuffling her off its back in the process, and she quickly scrambled to get her sister off it's back. The Flight master came over, looking concerned.

"Do you need assistance?" He asked, his eyes wary. She shook her head, wrapping her sister's arm around her shoulder.

"Thanks, but I gotta' friend nearby whose gonna help." She explained, moving quickly. Her sister's breathing was ragged and beginning to sound faded, and Alstromerea strained herself to try to move faster, when she nearly ran straight into her friend, and object of her affections, Navvi. The tall troll sidestepped the little priest, a mischevious glint in his eye that faded to concern when he saw the blood covering her usually neatly kept robes. His eyes settled on the mail-wearing goblin haphazardly thrown around her shoulders.

"Who dis?" He asked her, moving aside the tanned leather covering of his household. Alstromerea stepped inside past him, walking over to one of the spare flat cots and gingerly placing her sister upon it. Finally relieved of her sister's weight, she turned her full attention to Navvi.

"It's my sister." She explained, quickly stripping the gloves off of her hands and tearing the bag off her back and rummaging about in it. "I need bandages, and potions, is your brother around? I know he's…. it's hard for him to see me, but I could really use someone with his expertise. I don't know what hit her." Navvi knelt down beside the cot, probing the little goblin's head gingerly and frowning.

"You found her like dis?" He asked, scanning her body for more wounds. Alstromerea nodded.

"Her whole unit was dead when I arrived. I'm surprised she survived."

"Whateva da poison be, it not be as effective in creatures such as yaselves… dat, or da batch ah poison was small enough ta just barely affect her. But, make no mistake, she be dyin' quick."

"I can't lose my sister, Navvi." Alstromerea said, in a voice so small it was almost a whisper. "I've lost…. I've lost so much. I can't lose her too." Navvi nodded, and turned just as the leather was pulled aside and a second troll walked in, herbs of all kinds in his arms, as if the god's had sent him just for this purpose. He looked at Alstromerea accusingly, before his eyes settled on the injured goblin's paling form.

"What's dis?" He asked, setting the herbs gently on the table. The rain began to come down harder. "Ya brought more outsidas to our home?"

"She be dyin, brutha." Navvi said, standing. Alstromerea noticed only a few differences in the two. Both stood straight and tall, like most of the Zandalari. Navvi's brother had a slightly more pronounced chin, and broader cheekbones, and his eyes were narrower, though she suspected they were this way because he was scrutinizing their situation. His skin was the exact same shade of marine blue, but his hair was dark blue like the depths of the sea, different from his brother's moss colored locks. "Ya know ya can heal her. Don't be makin' me beg now."

"Nazmir?" The brother asked, hesistantly moving closer to the shaman's unmoving body. "Ya know most dat go to Nazmir don't come back. She's lucky she been alive at all."

"Yes, but I did find her, and she needs help." Alstromerea bit out impatiently. "My healing is ineffective. Something inside her seems to be… sucking out my healing." She described earnestly. The brother turned his piercing gaze towards her, before nodding curtly.

"It be an old blood magic." He said, waving a hand over Cryzanth's body slowly. A totem materialized beside him, exuding a gentle calming aura that Alstromerea recognized almost immediately.

"You're a shaman too?" She blurted out, unable to stop herself. The brother quirked an eyebrow at her, looking her up and down curiously.

"You do not look like a shaman." He said smirking. "Whatchu know about da voodoo?" Alstromerea's cheeks heated up but she lifted her chin up and crossed her arms.

"Not _me_. She emphasized. "My sister." She said, nodding towards the patient in question. Navvi's brother turned his attention back to the shaman, who's breathing seemed to ease slightly with the presence of the totem near her.

"Ah, it be makin' sense den." He said under his breath, just barely audible to Alstromerea and Navvi. "She respond betta to da elemental healing. The cooling praise of watah. Your _Light_ won't bless a wound like dis. This wound feeds off such energies." Alstromerea cringed slightly.

"We best be leavin my brutha to it then." Navvi said gently, placing a hand on Alstromerea's head gently. "He'll take care of her, don'tcha worry now."

"Bah, get out before I change me mind." He told Navvi grumpily. The druid and priest turned heel, leaving the two shaman in the room alone. He carefully lifted off the wolf's head helm she wore and set it off to the side, revealing her matted indigo locks, splayed about messily or pasted to her face with blood. Her lids were painted a smoky charcoal color that was smudged, and her lips, though painted blue, were beginning to wither with what appeared to be dehydration. He lifted the water flask from his side and pressed the opening to her lips, slowly sliding the water down her throat. She did not respond, but then again, he hadn't really expected her to. He stood and reached for his herb bowl on the table, as well as his crushing bowl and cleansed water from the Loa's temple.

He crushed sea stalk and anchor weed, just a touch of siren's pollen and thickened it with the blessed water. Mixing such a concoction required concentration, and delicate patience, as even the slightest slip of the hand, too much or two little of any herb, could kill the person administered to. This goblin seemed to have somewhat of a natural immunity, but it would only delay the inevitable. The blood trolls only did one of two things. Kidnapped for sacrifices, or killed on sight. Based off what he'd overhead of Navvi and Alstromerea's conversation, she'd been intended to be the latter. He dabbed a bit of the paste onto the wound in her head, and more into the wound at her side and on her arm, before setting down the bowl and hovering his hands over her body. He began to channel the elements soothing waters to cover her body, slowly allowing the paste to absorb into her skin, to neutralize the poison and allow her blood to clot again.

As he allowed this process to occur, he focused on healing the smaller, more negligible things. Scrapes, bruises, a cracked rib and fractured ankle. The antidote would have to work itself out, but he could help to mend the rest so that it had less work to do. The pasty susbstance he'd created had already permeated her skin, and her breathing began to quicken, an effect of the Siren's pollen. He reached for her wrist, intending to feel for her pulse to ensure it was moving as it should be, when she suddenly bolted upright, her eyes wheeling around wildly as she observed her surroundings in panic.

Her eyes stopped dead on the troll before her and she yelped, scrambling back and falling off the cot onto the floor. Her eyes were wide and dilated, and for an instant, No'cuun nearly took her for an animal, so savage she appeared, on all fours, her back arched like a cat whose heckles were raised, muscles tense.

"It be alright." No'cuun said, holding up his hands gently, as if trying to calm a scared nightsaber cub. "I just be healin' ya. Ya been in pretty bad shape." Cryzanth's eyes darted towards the door and back quickly, the breaths coming from her body in pants. She didn't relax her muscles.

"Who are you?" She asked, so flatly it nearly wasn't a question.

"I am No'cuun, brotha of Navvi." He said, brushing a strand of dark blue hair from his face. "Ya sista brought ya here ta be healed. Her magics not be workin' on ya." Cryzanth seemed to relax slightly at the sound of her sister's name, but remained backed into the corner of the room, just a foot or so from the edge of the cot where she'd fallen off.

"We're in Dazar'Alor?" She asked. Nocuun nodded.

"Yes, we be in da grand city." He replied. "Ya be weakened by da blood magic. Can ya trust me an' come back to da cot please." Cryzanth hesitated. Her eyes darted to the golden totem at his side and narrowed her eyes, before slowly crawling back over to the cot, her eyes never leaving his face.

"How long was I out?" She asked. No'cuun shrugged.

"I do not know. Ya gonna have ta ask ya sista dat one." He said, patting the cot impatiently. Cryzanth grimaced, but climbed upon the cot anyway, seething as she laid back on it.

"Now, try ta relax, I not gon' try ta hurt ya." He focused again on utilizing the healing properties of the water to cleanse her body of any remaining blood poison, as well as coaxing the tissue to repair itself. She was watching him with her violet Hawk-like eyes, and for once, No'cuun felt the impatient gaze of someone who didn't trust him, rather than the other way around. He chuckled under his breath.

"What's so funny?" She asked gruffly.

"It be nothin' of importance." He said dismissively. "Ya sista will be pleased to know ya lucid."

"She shouldn't have even been in Nazmir." The goblin replied darkly. "She could have gotten killed. Stronger men than her were slaughtered by those blood trolls… it was all so fast…" Her eyes finally left him and seemed to stare into nothingness for a few moments. He saw her cringe and wondered what she was envisioning. She groaned and reached over her side to the larger wound. It had mostly healed, but it still looked tender to the touch.

"This feels ironic or somethin'." She grumbled. "I'm usually the one healin' people. Not the other way around."

"One must be open ta all possibilities of life." No'cuun said vaguely, moving his hands away from her body and gently pulling her to a sitting position. "Ta include bein' da prey ratha den da predator." Cryzanth sat, silently contemplating this as he finished his inspection of her.

"You'll be needin' some bandages, Navvi might have some extra lyin' around here somewhere." No'cuun said. "But mostly, ya just be needin' rest. Blood poison draws from your very essenses, and can take a few days ta recova from."

"Alright, Thanks, I guess." Cryzanth said, pushing at her matted hair and looking over sheepishly. "I think I need to take a walk outside." No'cuun raised an eyebrow questioningly, as she hopped off of the cot, and unbuckled the bulky belt and skirt ensemble she wore. No'cuun's face heated up at the blatant disregard for privacy when he realized she was wearing leather breeches beneath her mail lined skirt, and she unlatched her shoulder pauldrons before stepping out directly into the pouring rain.

He watched, partially fascinated, partially in disbelief, as she raised her hands high, as if calling for more rain to fall, and it _did_ seem to fall harder, and the blood that had been dried began to run down her body in rivulets, falling onto the cobblestone temple pathways, as the rains did their best to cleanse her of the proof of her injuries. She stood in the rain for several minutes, not seeming to care that her clothes were soaked, or that her body was wracked with trembling. Her face was turned upwards, facing the torrential downpour head on, with a contented smile on her face.

She turned to face him again and he was struck by how vibrant her eyes were against the stormy grey clouds and paled colors around her. She was watching him carefully, as if unsure of how she should proceed, when her name was called from just west.

"Cryzanth!" Her violet eyes tore away from his and she was overrun by her sister, who was hugging her like there was no tomorrow, near sobbing and making a scene just outside their home. Navvi came behind his brother, clapping him on the shoulder amicably.

"Dey be pretty exuberant, eh brutha?" He asked No'cuun. The shaman turned to his brother suspiciously.

"Ya best be gettin' them inside, _before_ I hafta make a potion for da sniffles too." No'cuun replied. Navvi laughed heartily and shook his head at his disgruntled older brother.

"Ah, No'cuun, I knew dey'd grow on ya." Nocuun turned slightly to catch Cryzanth's gaze once more. He blinked.

"Mmph." He grunted, turning away and walking towards his personal store-room, Cryzanth watching his retreat with a sharpened gaze.

...

Is this the beginning of something wonderful? I think so! I hope you enjoyed this chapter, and in the future I'd love to cover more of these two. But I think the next time I do a goblin-troll couple, it will likely be Fleurishka and Taz. Because they're precious. Lol. Thanks for reading, and come back soon!


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